


Petrification Profileration

by White_Squirrel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Basilisk(s), Competent Ministry, Gen, Good Dumbledore, Hilarity Ensues, Hogwarts Second Year, Parody, St Mungo's Hospital, responsible adults
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-04 23:24:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14031132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Squirrel/pseuds/White_Squirrel
Summary: What would have been the appropriate response to a creature that can kill with a look being set loose in the only magical school in Britain? It would have been a lot more than a pat on the head from Dumbledore and a mug of hot cocoa.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Would a basilisk really be all but ignored by the people of magical Britain? No? Then I am not JK Rowling and do not own Harry Potter.
> 
> I got this idea while reading Promotion by Endgames, which features a basilisk attack on the Great Hall. I realised that an attack like that could easily wipe out the entire school, so shouldn’t the Ministry’s response in general be proportional to the threat? Here’s how it should have happened in canon.

Harry, Ron, Ginny, Fawkes, and “Professor” Lockhart stumbled into Professor McGonagall’s office, covered in muck, slime, and blood on their return from the Chamber of Secrets. There was silence for a moment before Ginny threw herself into her parents arms.

Harry looked on and was immensely relieved to see Professor Dumbledore had returned. He leaned against the mantel and called Fawkes over to him. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were beside themselves thanking Harry, and Professor McGonagall was very interested in just what had happened, but no one said much coherently before Professor Dumbledore spoke up.

“I think, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, that you have quite a tale to tell,” he said with a smile. “And I think that you should tell it presently.”

Harry and Ron looked at each other. Then, Harry took a deep breath to collect his thoughts and began, “Well, sir, Professor McGonagall let us go to the Hospital Wing earlier to visit Hermione, and we found a note in her hand. She figured out what the monster was before she was petrified. It was a basilisk—”

“STOP!”

Harry froze, suddenly fearful. The atmosphere had turned from joyful to deadly serious so fast it made his head spin. No one dared speak, not even the hysterical Mrs. Weasley, nor the oblivious Lockhart, as every adult in the room, even Dumbledore himself, grew as pale as death.

Dumbledore stepped forward, staring at Harry with the most intense look he had ever seen. It was as if the Headmaster was boring into his mind and riffling through his memories with his eyes. “Harry,” he said with a voice that was like holding back thunder, “did you say a _basilisk_?”

Harry gulped. He felt like he had broken some really serious law that he didn’t know about. “Y-y-yes, sir,” he said.

“Are you _certain_ it was a basilisk?”

“Y-yes, sir. I saw it, but it’s dead now.”

“B-b-but how is it that no one was k-killed?” McGonagall asked with a look of terror Harry had not thought her capable of.

“No one looked it in the eye directly, ma’am. It was all reflections and stuff.”

The intense pressure on Harry’s mind vanished, and he saw Dumbledore and McGonagall exchanging a very worried look.

“You know what we must do, Albus,” McGonagall said.

“Yes, I know. I am loathe to do it, but it would be no good if _I_ went to Azkaban for not reporting it.”

“ _You, Professor_?” Harry said in confusion. “But what—?”

“Please be silent, Harry,” Dumbledore ordered in a voice that brokered no argument. Harry was stunned. Dumbledore was always so kindly. And the battle was already won. What on earth was making him so…threatening?

“ _Expecto Patronum_!” Dumbledore said. Harry watched as the Headmaster conjured a shimmering, silver phoenix and spoke to it: “Locate any students who are not in the dorms, the Hospital Wing, or this room.” The Phoenix shook its head, apparently indicating there weren’t any. A moment later, it vanished. Then, the old wizard spoke two eldritch incantations that made Harry’s hair stand on end. The first had no noticeable effect inside the room, but the second filled the air with the densest fog he had ever seen. He could barely see the other people in the room. He had no doubt that it permeated the entire castle. Through a veil, he saw Dumbledore point his wand at his own throat and speak, “ _Sonorus_!” Then, he had to clap his hands over his ears as Dumbledore’s voice thundered through the castle, amplified a hundredfold:

“Attention Hogwarts! This is Headmaster Dumbledore speaking. I have been reinstated by the Board of Governors. Everyone remain where you are. My instructions are to be followed to the letter on penalty of censure for insubordination.”

Harry gasped. He knew that, at least in muggle schools, insubordination was dealt with harshly—not always enforced, but held in reserve in case it was needed. Dudley had nailed him with that a couple of times.

“In a few minutes, Hogwarts will be evacuated to the Ministry of Magic,” the Headmaster continued. “Aurors will open the common room fire grates from the other side for Floo transport. Prefects, perform a head count, and inform the Aurors of any missing students upon your arrival. House Guardians: common rooms are hereby sealed to all entry except on the Headmaster’s word. House Ghosts: guard the entrances to the common rooms from the _inside_. All students: if anything should happen to the House Ghosts, _close_ the fire grate at once and retreat to your individual dorm rooms. Do not look back. _Quietus_.”

“Mum, what’s happening?” Ginny wailed.

“I didn’t want any trouble,” Harry said. “The monster’s dead. You don’t need to—”

“We must be sure there are no others, Harry,” Dumbledore interrupted. “This is a Ministry matter. You must wait. I will explain later. Director of Magical Law Enforcement’s Office!” Harry saw a green light appear in the fog. The Headmaster must have used Floo powder. He couldn’t see what was happening, but he heard an unknown woman speaking.

“Albus, what is it?” she said. “Did something else happen? Did you find the girl?”

“All students are safe and accounted for at the moment, Amelia,” he said, speaking quickly, “but we have a greater emergency: I have discovered that the monster was a basilisk.”

“ _Basilisk?_ Are you certain Albus?”

“Yes.”

Harry’s (and everyone else’s) level of alarm jumped still higher when the woman on the other side of the Floo started shouting, “CODE RED! CODE RED! THIS IS NOT A DRILL! CODE RED AT HOGWARTS! Call back all Aurors and Hitwizards! ALL of them except minimum patrol at Azkaban. We have a confirmed basilisk sighting. Repeat: CONFIRMED BASILISK SIGHTING!” Then, there was a lot of indistinct shouting in the background from the fireplace, but Amelia’s voice cut through the noise: “Albus what steps have you taken?”

“I have sealed off the grounds and conjured fog throughout the castle to protect the students. They are confined to their dorms and awaiting evacuation. All are accounted for.”

“What about the basilisk? Where is it? How many?”

“In the Chamber of Secrets, and I hope only one. I have confirmed only that Harry Potter located the Chamber and killed one basilisk inside it.”

“He _killed_ one?” Amelia gasped. “But you said—he’s alive, then?”

“Yes. He is with me now. Be advised that his Parseltongue ability is needed to enter the Chamber. I suspect it was only the one basilisk, but—”

“But we’ll have to search the whole place from top to bottom and question everyone involved, yes. Okay, first priority is to make sure the students are safe. Who was involved in the attacks?”

Fortunately, Dumbledore’s look into Harry’s mind had told him the whole story. “I have three students and one teacher with me whom I believe are the only ones who had contact with the basilisk. I also believe it was released against their will.”

“Good. Here’s the plan. I’ll evacuate the Atrium and conjure a fog screen there, and then reconnect to you. Send through everyone who was involved first, then evacuate the common rooms one at a time, followed by all staff and any stragglers. I’ll contact St. Mungo’s to retrieve the ones in your Infirmary.”

“I understand, Amelia. I await your call.”

The grate closed, and Dumbledore stepped back to rejoin the group, close enough for them to see his face through the fog. Harry was about to ask what was going on again, but the Headmaster spoke first: “That will take them a few minutes. You will all need to be questioned by the DMLE, of course. I want you to cooperate with them fully.”

“Professor, what is going _on_?” Harry shouted.

“A basilisk is an extremely dangerous creature, Harry,” Dumbledore said.

“Yeah, I _know_.” Harry held up the sword he was still holding.

“My apologies. And I will need to take that sword before you go. A basilisk is _so_ dangerous—and illegal—that any time one is sighted, the Ministry is required to investigate where it came from and how it was released, and search the entire area thoroughly to make sure there aren’t any others.

Ginny burst into tears again. “I-I-I d-didn’t mean to!” she gasped. “T-T-Tom made me do it!” Mrs. Weasley held her closer, and she buried her face in her robes, sobbing incoherently.

“Please, Dumbledore,” said a tearful Mrs. Weasley, “what’s going to happen to Ginny?”

“She will be questioned under Veritaserum—truth serum—” he added, shooting a glance at Harry, “—to determine her exact involvement in this affair, and charges will be filed as appropriate.”

“Professor, it wasn’t Ginny’s fault!” Harry said. “She was possessed. She didn’t mean to—”

“Enough.” Dumbledore held up his hand. “Even I cannot stop the investigation at this point. You and Ronald will also be questioned, as will Professor Lockhart…if the Healers can extract anything useful from his mind.”

“Ron, too?” Mrs. Weasley gasped. “But did he do anything? Don’t we have a right to refuse?”

“Not in this case. This falls under the ‘clear and present danger’ doctrine, not an ordinary criminal investigation. _But_ if Ginevra was truly acting against her will and did not know what she was doing, she will not be blamed.” He didn’t mention his real worry. He saw in Harry’s mind that Ginny knew she was being possessed. If she knew or suspected that it was a basilisk she was unleashing and didn’t do anything to stop it, she would still be sent to Azkaban for long enough to come out emotionally crippled at best, underage or no.

In fact, Harry and Ron might not be out of the woods either. They had known there was a basilisk for a whole day and not reported it. _Technically,_ there was no duty to report for an ordinary, uninvolved citizen, and _technically_ , had they followed instructions strictly, they would not have even had the opportunity to report it, but the Ministry would be quick to prosecute any actual crime they found to the fullest extent of the law. If that happened, Dumbledore could only hoped he could get them off on the grounds that Harry had actually killed the thrice-damned thing.

The Floo whooshed to life again, and Madam Bones called out, “Alright, Albus, we’re set up on this end. Send through the POIs.”

“Certainly. Molly, please take Ginny through first.”

Mrs. Weasley got up, trembling, and nudged Ginny through the fireplace. A few moments later, a voice said, “Okay, next one.”

“Harry, please step through next,” Dumbledore said.

Harry handed over the sword, stepped through the Floo and came spinning out onto the floor of what he presumed was the Ministry of Magic. This room was filled with thick fog as well. He had just enough time to look up and see both Ginny and Mrs. Weasley being carried away, seemingly unconscious, before someone called out “ _Stupefy_!” and everything went black.

* * *

 

Harry awoke and found he was chained to a chair. He started to panic and struggle, but he heard a woman’s voice say, “Please remain calm, Mr. Potter.” It was the same voice he had heard talking to Dumbledore through the Floo. He looked up and saw a stern, square-jawed, older woman with a monocle dressed in plain, black robes standing over him. “I apologise for the restraints,” she said. “They’re standard procedure. If Dumbledore’s story is true, I don’t believe you are a threat. However, I must question you, the same as the others.”

“Wh-what happened?” Harry asked.

“You were stunned by an Auror upon your arrival and brought here for questioning. Again, standard procedure.”

“Auror?”

“A magical police officer—our highest-trained officers, to be exact. My name is Amelia Bones, Mr. Potter. I am the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry of Magic.”

Harry’s eyes widened. He didn’t realise this was going all the way to the top. “So they’re searching for the basilisk, ma’am?” he asked.

“In a manner of speaking,” she said. “Because of the danger of a basilisk nest, we will be searching every inch of the castle and grounds to make sure there are no more of them around.”

 _Every inch of the castle?_ Harry thought. But Hogwarts was huge, and it changed all around when you weren’t looking. How could anyone search all of it? “How long will that take?” he asked.

“No idea. Headmaster Dumbledore is already talking about cancelling final exams. Hogwarts is a nightmare with secret chambers and such.”

“Yeah, I know. Er…Madam Bones, I still don’t get why a basilisk is such a big deal. I mean, sure, it nearly killed me, but I killed it instead.”

Bones sighed and sat down in a chair across from Harry. “Mr. Potter, you were raised in the muggle world. Correct?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then I suppose you might not understand how serious this is. You know about nuclear weapons, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Now, keeping that in mind, imagine what would have happened, God forbid, if that basilisk had come into the Great Hall during dinner.”

Harry’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Everyone would have died,” he whispered.

“Yes. Nearly the entire school would have died. Some petrified first by reflections. Perhaps a lucky very few managing to escape. There are fewer than ten thousand witches and wizards in Britain. Hogwarts is the only school. Upwards of ninety percent of all children ages eleven to eighteen killed—a third of a demographic generation already weakened by low birthrates during the war. In all likelihood, there would be a mass exodus of surviving families from Britain, the Ministry would collapse, and once the basilisk was found and killed by the ICW, the island would be resettled as a colony of magical France. It’s happened before in the Indian princely states.”

Harry felt faint. He knew the basilisk was really, really bad news, but he hadn’t thought it out anywhere near that far.

“In proportional terms, Mr. Potter,” Madam Bones continued, “a loose basilisk would be _worse_ than dropping an H-bomb on London, so I hope you can understand why we treat it this severely.”

Harry could only nod. His voice had left him.

“I sincerely hope that the basilisk you killed was the only one,” she added, “but we must be absolutely certain, just as the muggle government must keep careful track of all nuclear weapons. In order to understand what we’re up against, I need to question you under Veritaserum about everything you know about the incident. The serum will force you to answer all questions truthfully and thoroughly. Do you understand?

Harry was pretty sure he didn’t have any deep, dark secrets, unless you counted all those times he sneaked out of the dorms with his invisibility cloak: “Um, I guess, but…”

“Yes?”

“Is Ginny is trouble, ma’am?”

Madam Bones sat, grim-faced and seemed to wrestle with herself. After a minute’s thought she said, “I shouldn’t be telling you this, Mr. Potter, but I questioned Miss Weasley directly before you. She reported that she was unwittingly possessed by a cursed diary, had no memory of her actions, and had no idea that a basilisk was involved. In short, she did nothing that warrants pressing charges. As for school punishment, that’s up to the Headmaster.”

“Oh, that’s okay, then.”

Bones nodded, not mentioning the alternative possibility: anyone who knowingly and willingly released a basilisk into the school would likely be executed for use of a weapon of mass destruction and attempted genocide. “Rufus?” she called, and a man with a mane of tawny hair that made him look like an old lion stepped forward. “This is Rufus Scrimgeour, the Head Auror,” she told Harry. “He will administer the Veritaserum.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter,” Scrimgeour said. “I have a few of questions to ensure that the potion will work correctly on you.” Harry nodded. “Have you ever practised any form of Occlumency, meditation, or self-hypnosis.”

“Um, no, I don’t think so.”

“Have you ever been placed under the Imperius Curse?”

“The what curse?”

“Have you ever been diagnosed with a mental illness or learning disability?”

“No.”

“Good. Open your mouth, please.”

Harry wasn’t sure what all of that was about—well, maybe the self-hypnosis part—but he opened his mouth, and Scrimgeour dripped three drops of a clear, tasteless potion onto his tongue. He felt a slight haze around his mind—not so much an aura of truth as the sensation of all thoughts and concerns about what he was going to say vanishing from his mind. He knew he would know exactly what to say.

Madam Bones set up a parchment with a Dictaquill to record the conversation, and she began the questioning. “What is your name, for the record?” she asked.

“Harry James Potter,” Harry answered. He had never used his middle name before, but it seemed perfectly natural now.

“Do you live in Little Whinging, Surrey?”

“Yes.”

“Are you currently a second-year student at Hogwarts?”

“Yes.”

“Answer the next question “no,” please. Are you the Seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team?”

“N-Yes.” Harry was surprised at how subtly the potion worked. The lie had felt so unnatural on his tongue that the word had changed in his mouth before he even realised it.

“Let the record show that the Veritaserum is working as expected,” Bones said. “Now, Mr. Potter, please explain from the beginning, and in your own words: how did a basilisk come to be released in Hogwarts, and what happened to it?”

Harry opened his mouth to begin explaining about the attack on Mrs. Norris on Halloween, but as he began to speak, he found completely different words coming to him unbidden, and he realised that the “beginning” of the story really happened long before that. “The first trouble happened on my birthday last summer,” he began. “Dobby warned me that someone was planning to do terrible things at Hogwarts this year.”

“And who is Dobby?” Bones interrupted.

“A house elf. He showed up in my room—”

“Bugger!” Madam Bones said. She jumped up and ran out of the room. Harry was left staring after her in confusion.

It was a couple of minutes before she came back. “Sorry about that, Mr. Potter,” she said. “I completely forgot to tell Dumbledore to get the house elves out of Hogwarts. Ugh, embarrassing.”

“There are house elves working at Hogwarts?” Harry said in surprise.

“Of course there are. How did you think the food got made? Don’t answer that,” she added, remembering he was still under Veritaserum. “Now, again, how did a basilisk come to be released in Hogwarts?”

Harry began talking, but it was slow going. So many things need extra explanation. He started by explaining about Dobby’s visit last summer in which the elf had tried to force him not to go back at Hogwarts, and which ended with Dobby getting him in trouble for underage magic.

“So the elf performed the Hover Charm, but you received a warning letter?” Madam Bones clarified.

“Yes,” Harry answered.

“I’ll look into that. I should be able to strike the warning from your record.”

“Thanks.”

“What happened next, Mr. Potter?”

“Uncle Vernon locked me in my room and hired a man to put bars on the windows.”

“No, I meant about the basil—wait, he locked you in your room?”

“Yes.”

Auror Scrimgeour raised his eyebrow. “For how long?”

“Four days, until the Weasleys came and got me.”

“The didn’t let you out at all?”

“Twice a day to use the bathroom. The door was locked all the time, otherwise.”

“How did they feed you, then?”

“Through a cat flap in the door.”

Bones and Scrimgeour leaned back and nodded to each other. Bones shifted her Dictaquill to a new piece of parchment and said, “Harry Potter, testifying to allegations against his legal guardians, Vernon and Petunia Dursley. Witnessed: Amelia Bones and Rufus Scrimgeour. Veritaserum administered and verified. What is your name for the record, Mr. Potter?”

“Harry James Potter.”

“Described your Aunt and Uncle’s treatment of you from the time they took you in.”

“They made me sleep in the cupboard under the stairs from when they took me in until I got my first Hogwarts letter,” Harry said. He was suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. He never wanted to make a big deal about his relatives’ treatment of him, but he couldn’t resist the Veritaserum. “They took care of me only as much as they were legally required to. They taught me to do chores starting before I can remember and made me do as many as I was able. I don’t remember them ever buying anything just for me besides my glasses—”

“Stop, Mr. Potter.” Madam Bones sighed, looking horrified. This was going to be a _long_ day. “We’ll deal with your relatives later.” She handed the second parchment off and said, “Rufus, add this to the stack of active cases. Bring Mr. Potter’s guardians in as soon as there’s someone free to do it.” He nodded and left the room.

“You’re going to arrest the Dursley’s?” Harry said with wide eyes.

“Yes. You’re still under Veritaserum, Mr. Potter. You’ve given me enough to give them five years for neglect already. You don’t want to go back there, do you?”

“No!” Harry said. He couldn’t believe what was happening. A day ago, he was afraid Hogwarts would close, and he’d be stuck with the Dursleys forever. Now, he might not have to go back there at all.

“Good. Now, tell me more about the basilisk.”

Harry again started to talk about the attack on Mrs. Norris, but he once again found the words changing as he said them and remembered that there was another piece of the story to tell: “I first saw Tom Riddle’s Diary when I was shopping for school supplies with the Weasleys in Diagon Alley.”

“The diary that possessed Ginny Weasley?” Madam Bones said.

“Yes.”

“Where did you see it?”

“In Ginny’s cauldron.”

That fit, she thought. The Weasley girl had testified that she found it in her cauldron after that shopping trip, but didn’t know how it had got there. She had a speculation, but for better or worse, it was not certain enough to act upon. “How did it get there?” she asked.

Harry was about to say he didn’t know, but the Veritaserum did strange things to his memory. Things that he was sure he couldn’t have remembered on his own suddenly became clear: “I think Lucius Malfoy did it.”

Madam Bones’s heart sank. She’d often fantasised about locking up Lucius Malfoy, but to actually do it…This was going to get ugly. “Why do you think that?”

Harry explained about how Lucius Malfoy had accosted Mr. Weasley in Flourish and Blotts and thumbed through Ginny’s transfiguration book. He was pretty sure he had slipped the diary inside the course book, and he couldn’t think of anyone else who could have and would have done it.

Madam Bones, however, was not satisfied. She needed a lot more than a speculation. “Who was shopping in your group that day?” she asked.

“Me, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Percy, Fred, George, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and her parents.”

“Did you see anyone else touch Ginny’s cauldron besides Lucius Malfoy?”

“Um…Hagrid might have when he broke up the fight.”

She noted the Grangers’ and Hagrid’s names for reference. “Did you actually see Lucius Malfoy place the diary in Ginny’s cauldron?”

“No.”

“But you believe he could have done it by sleight of hand without you seeing?”

“Yes.”

“Could a passerby in the street have slipped the diary in at some other time that day without you seeing it?”

“Uh, I guess so.”

“Hmm…” This was tricky. She would need something more definite. A Pensieve memory of Malfoy slipping the diary in would be ideal. That would dredge up every detail of the incident from the boy’s subconscious mind, but even that would only show things in his direct line of sight. And Malfoy knew it; he wasn’t an idiot. Although…she had seen the diary itself. It was thick enough that it might be visible inside the course book when it sat in the cauldron, and she could probably follow the _course book_ through the memory and compare it before and after.

Of course, _one_ Pensieve memory wouldn’t be enough to nail Lucius Malfoy, but there _were_ plenty of witnesses. Even if only some of them saw it clearly, a reconstruction from several memories might just about do it, and she _was_ mandated by law to investigate as thoroughly as possible.

Amelia Bones smiled for the first time all day: “Do you know what a Penseive is, Mr. Potter?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Could a politician really just bury an accusation of murder that should be handled by law enforcement instead? Well…probably yes, but I don’t own Harry Potter regardless.

“ _Homenum Revelio_.”

“ _Illusoria Diluo_.”

“ _Veritas Occulum_.”

“ _Salvio Hexia_.”

“ _Cave inimicum_.”

“ _Revelio Maleficarum_.”

Aurors Mike Li, Lutetia Savage, and Kingsley Shacklebolt were tasked with securing the fog-filled Gryffindor Tower in Hogwarts. That meant going in, closing the Floo behind them, and casting about in the thick fog for any kind of dark magic that could hide a basilisk, even an egg. They had found a few minor contraband items—and a large cache in the fourth-year boys’ room—but thankfully nothing basilisk-related. A trio of Aurors had been sent to each common room, the most likely places already to be secure given all the students in them not being petrified. Once the dorms were secure, more Aurors would be brought in to secure the rest of the castle.

“Clear,” Shacklebolt declared.

“ _Animi Revelio_ ,” Savage cast.

A cat hissed as it suddenly glowed with a golden light and ran across the room. Savage intercepted it and scooped it up in a smooth motion.

“One cat. That makes seven,” she said. “I’ll take it down with the others.”

Most of the distraught students had been forced to leave their beloved pets behind when the school was evacuated, especially in Gryffindor where Percy Weasley ruled the roost. Madam Bones had asked them to collect a list of all pets and retrieve them since they would be searching every inch of the place anyway, and it would be easier to search without worrying about animals running around. Gryffindor had registered seventeen cats, three toads, one rat, and one ferret. The owls would have to fend for themselves until someone made it to the Owlery. Auror Savage took this cat down to the Common Room and penned it up with the others so they could release them all through the Floo at once—minimising contact was the rule. Once she returned to the others, they moved on to the second-year boys’ room at the very top of the tower.

“ _Homenum Revelio_.”

“ _Illusoria Diluo_.”

“ _Veritas Occulum_.”

“We got a hit!” Auror Li yelled as something small and moving lit up. When it came into view, they saw that it was a fat, glowing rat, which ran, frantically trying to get past them.

“Stun it!” Shacklebolt ordered. “ _Stupefy_!”

“ _Stupefy_!”

“ _Stupefy_!”

The rat knew he was in trouble as soon as the fog appeared. He had tried to run at once, but Dumbledore’s voice thundered through the castle and ordered the dorms sealed before he could get to the Common Room. At that point, all he could do was hunker down and hope he didn’t get caught.

“ _Stupefy_!” The spell hit, and the rat stopped moving.

“What is it?” Li asked.

“Animagus, maybe?” Savage suggested.

“Could be,” Shacklebolt agreed. “ _Homenum Revertio_.”

The rat grew and changed into a man, and the Aurors’ eyes widened.

“Is that who I think it is?” said Li.

“Definitely,” Shacklebolt replied. “The Boss is going to want to see this.”

 

#

 

“I stabbed up with the sword when it struck at me,” Harry explained. “I must have hit its brain because it fell over dead instantly. One of its fangs stabbed me in the arm, but Fawkes cried on it and healed it.”

Amelia Bones and Rufus Scrimgeour were in awe. This twelve-year-old boy had killed a thousand-year-old basilisk with only a sword and a phoenix and lived to tell the tale. He hadn’t even had his wand. The (alarmingly few) rational thinkers of magical Britain had always though the Boy-Who-Lived hype was just that, but _this_ …Maybe there was something special about him, after all.

“What about the diary?” Madam Bones said.

“It was still…doing something. Riddle said Ginny was still gonna die, and he was gonna come back. He tried to curse me, but Fawkes dropped the diary in front of me, and I stabbed it with the fang. There was this scream, and a bunch of ink poured out of it, and he disappeared.”

“How did you know that would work?”

“I didn’t. I didn’t really think about it at all.”

Madam Bones raised her eyebrows, but before she could respond, there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” she said.

The door opened, and Harry flinched at the sight. An old man with a cane stood outside—an old man whose face was covered in scars and who had a false eye, large and pale blue, which seemed to look straight through him.

“Amelia, the team in Gryffindor found something you need to see,” the old man said.

“Basilisk?” Bones asked urgently.

“No, but you need to see it anyway.”

“Alright, Alastor, we’re almost done here. I’ll get back to you in a few minutes.”

“Right, boss.” He left the room, and Madam Bones turned back to Harry.

“So, just to be clear,” she asked, “you didn’t realise you were hearing Parseltongue until you saw Miss Granger’s note?”

“Yes, ma’am, that’s right.”

“And why did you not inform the teachers at once about the basilisk?”

This was the question that really made Harry nervous. Everyone was taking it so seriously. “We didn’t think it would matter because Lockhart was supposed to take care of it…Er, I didn’t know it would involve…all this.”

“And you don’t know what the diary actually was?”

“Only that he said he was a memory, and he was trying to steal Ginny’s life force or something.”

Madam Bones sighed. “Alright, Mr. Potter, that should be enough. I don’t foresee any legal problems for you later on, but I may need to question you some more about the incident, and I will definitely need to question you about your relatives. Speaking of which, with your relatives being arrested, Dumbledore is now your guardian _ad litem_ , and you’ll need to talk to him about arranging a temporary guardian to look after you for the summer. You can sit with the Weasleys while we work on the investigation.”

“Yes ma’am,” Harry said, hoping that Dumbledore would still be okay with him staying with the Weasleys. He left the interrogation room and was escorted to a waiting area that turned out to be outside Mr. Weasley’s small office. Other students seemed to be randomly milling around the halls, much to the consternation of the workers.

“Oh, Harry, thank goodness! You were in there so long,” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, hugging him again. “What happened in there?”

“Madam Bones asked me all about the basilisk and the Chamber and stuff,” Harry replied. “But she said Ginny’s not in trouble, and I’m not either. Then, some old guy with a creepy eye called her to look at some other case.”

“Oh, that’ll be Mad-Eye Moody,” Mr. Weasley said. “I wonder if they found something else when they were searching.”

“That’s what it sounded like, but I don’t know. Anyway, she arrested my relatives for locking me in my room last summer.” The Weasleys all stared at him silently with wide eyes. “So what’s happening out here?” he said offhandedly.

“It’s a madhouse, I can tell you that,” Mr. Weasley replied. “They stuck the students wherever they could fit them so they could keep the Atrium locked down while they’re searching. They’ve started calling parents to pick up their kids, but I think it’ll take a while.”

“Everyone’s running around like headless chickens, still,” Mrs. Weasley said. “Ginny really ought to be checked out at St. Mungo’s, but they say we need to stay here until they question all of us.” Ginny didn’t even protest the assessment. She just sat on her mother’s lap, looking dazed, although Harry suspected she was more overwhelmed by the questioning than the incident itself by this point.

Once they all knew the immediate situation, Harry sat and chatted with the Weasleys for a while, explaining to them what was going on with his relatives and that he was now under Dumbledore’s guardianship. They immediately offered for him to stay with them again, which he eagerly accepted.

Still, they wondered what was happening. They had expected Ron to be questioned next, but Madam Bones was away on her other case for a long time, and when she finally returned, it was with a squad of half a dozen Aurors. The Weasleys looked up, and she said, “Arthur, Molly, Percy, and Ronald Weasley, please come forward.”

The four Weasleys in question gave each other a confused look and rose to their feet. As soon as they did, they were each grabbed from behind by an Auror, and Madam Bones said, “You four are under arrest for harbouring a criminal.”

Ginny screamed and started babbling incoherently for them to take her and let her family go. Everyone else was just shocked.

“They didn’t do anything!” Harry yelled.

“Look, we know we’ve crossed the line a few times,” said Fred.

“But you can’t just—” George started.

“BACK!” Another Auror pushed all four of them back at wandpoint. “This isn’t about any of you. While we were searching the castle, we discovered that Ronald’s pet rat was an unregistered animagus.”

“WHAT?!”

 

#

 

“Did you have any suspicious that “Scabbers’ was anything other than a rat?”

“Of course not!” Percy snapped. Even Veritaserum wasn’t calming the Weasleys down fully. “Do you think I would’ve let him sleep in my…I’m gonna be sick.”

 

#

 

“And you didn’t think it was suspicious that a common garden rat would live for twelve years?”

“No,” Ron said worriedly. “We all just figured he was magical or something.”

 

#

 

“Please describe how “Scabbers’ came into your household.”

“It was perfectly mundane,” Mr. Weasley answered shakily. “Percy wanted a pet. He was jealous because we’d started talking about getting Bill and owl for when he started Hogwarts. We never did get him one until he made prefect; we could only really afford our family owl, but Percy still wanted a pet. He was only five, and he had his heart set on it, so the first small, furry thing he found, he latched onto it and asked us if he could keep it.”

“And that thing was “Scabbers’?”

“Yes, Auror. He found him in the garden, and we figured a rat wouldn’t live that long and wouldn’t eat that much, so why not? And when he just kept on living, well, he sort of became a fixture.”

 

#

 

“I understand that you were acquainted with the suspect before his supposed death?”

Molly Weasley was beside herself with worry, but she struggled to keep it together. Through her tears, she said, “Yes, I was. My…my brothers worked with him during the war—whatever they were doing with Dumbledore. They never told me what. I met him a few times.”

“Did anyone ever give any indication that he was an animagus?”

“No. Never. I imagine that’s not the kind of thing you spread around if it’s for undercover work or something.”

 

#

 

“Fred, George, what’s going on?” Harry said. “What’s an animagus?”

“It’s a witch or wizard who can turn into an animal,” Fred answered.

“They’re really rare,” George added. “Takes a lot of skill.”

“McGonagall’s one,” Fred continued. “She can turn into a cat. She always shows the third year classes.”

“And Scabbers was one all this time?” Harry said.

“Guess so,” George said.

“But why’d they arrest your family?” he said. Ginny whimpered, and Harry awkwardly patted her on the shoulder.

“Animagi have to register with the Ministry,” Fred explained. “If they don’t, they can cause a lot of trouble sneaking around as an animal. Hiding one’s probably illegal, too.”

“But don’t worry. They’ll be fine,” Fred assured both Harry and Ginny. “Even we didn’t know Scabbers wasn’t a rat, and if we couldn’t figure it out, no one could.”

Fred’s optimism was borne out a little later when Madam Bones brought the rest of the Weasleys back unrestrained. “I’m sorry we had to frighten you like that,” she said. “I hope you can understand; under the circumstances, we are obligated to follow through on every single lead.”

“We understand, Madam Bones,” Mr. Weasley said. “We thank you for being thorough.”

“More than that,” Mrs. Weasley said. “Getting a criminal out of our house…” She shuddered.

“Yes. You’re lucky he didn’t try anything while he was there. Well, we’ve finished all the questioning we needed to for the time being, so all of you and Mr. Potter are free to go. I strongly recommend that you go to St. Mungo’s and have Ginevra and Mr. Potter checked over. They’ll be able to see their friend, Miss Granger, there, too.”

“Madam Bones, what happened?” Harry spoke up before she could leave. “Who was Scabbers, really?”

Bones looked down at the boy, debating whether to tell him now or leave it till later. But she remembered that she had just had his previous guardians arrested. He needed full disclosure fairly soon, especially after everything he had gone through up till now, she reckoned. “Sit down, Harry,” she said.

Harry sat back in his chair, and Bones took the chair opposite him. “Could you give us a few minutes in private, please?” she said to the Weasleys.

Mrs. Weasley and Ron looked about to protest, but Mr. Weasley pulled them both away.

“Your friend’s pet rat was actually a wizard in disguise—a wizard by the name of Peter Pettigrew,” Bones explained. “We believed he had been murdered eleven years ago by a man named Sirius Black. Both Black and Pettigrew were friends of your parents. We believed that Black betrayed your parents to You-Know-Who, but we were wrong. Pettigrew told us under Veritaserum that _he_ betrayed your parents and then faked his death, killing twelve muggles in the process. Black’s been in Azkaban ever since.

“Oh my God!” Harry gasped.

“I know. It’s yet another mess we have to fix,” she agreed. “But there’s something else you need to know, Harry: your guardianship and placement just became significantly more complicated.”

That seemed like a complete non-sequitur to him. “Why?” he said.

“Because Sirius Black was and legally remains your godfather.”

Harry’s eyes grew wide. “I have a godfather?” he said so excitedly his voice broke.

“Yes. I’m afraid I don’t know what condition he’ll be in after so long in Azkaban, but I’ve ordered him released as soon as I can spare the manpower. I’ll keep you informed of new developments by owl. Merlin, I never thought I’d be _releasing_ anyone from Azkaban when all this started.”

“Hey, isn’t Hagrid still there, too, ma’am?”

“Dammit,” she muttered under her breath. “I knew there was something else.”

 

#

 

An Auror was leading a handsome, blond wizard with a goofy grin through the lobby when Harry and the Weasleys arrived at St. Mungo’s, drawing worried looks from many of the onlookers.

“Ah, this is much nicer than the other places I’ve been,” the blond man said.

“Is that Gilderoy Lockhart?” the Welcome Witch said. “What happened to him?”

“Wiped his own memory by accident,” the Auror said.

“Goodness. I hope it’s not permanent. “You’ll want fourth floor.”

“Thanks.” The Auror led Lockhart off.

“Next?”

A large group of redheads approached the desk. “Our daughter and Harry, here, need to be checked over—” Mrs. Weasley started.

At the same time, though, Harry said, “Are the petrified students awake, yet? We want to see our friend, Hermione.”

“Harry you need to see about yourself—” Mrs. Weasley chastised him.

“I’ll be fine, Mrs. Weasley—”

“No, Harry, you nearly got killed down there, and—”

“Madam Bones didn’t seem too worried, though. I can wait until after I see Hermione.”

“Hmph. Alright then,” Mrs. Weasley conceded defeat. “I’ll be making sure you get seen before you leave, mind you. We’d like to see our children’s friend, Hermione Granger,” she told the Welcome Witch. “She was one of the petrified students who were brought in this morning.”

“Okay. Per hospital policy, you’ll need to wait for us to wake her up and ask her if she wants visitors, but you can find the petrified students on the first floor.”

 

#

 

It was an extremely disorienting and alarming sensation to be standing, looking around a corner with a mirror, catching a flash of yellow eyes, and then, the next thing you knew, you were flopping down onto a bed empty handed in a completely different location. That was certainly how Hermione Granger felt when she woke up. She leapt out of bed, practically climbing over the Healer to land on the floor, and screamed, “Ah! Basilisk! Madam Pomfrey!” all before she noticed her surroundings.

“Wh-wh-where am I?” she said fearfully.

The Healer tried to direct her back onto the bed and said, “You’re at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Miss Granger. I—”

“The hospital?” she gasped. “Oh no, what happened? Did something happen at Hogwarts? Are my friends all right? Harry Potter? Ron Weasley—?”

“Please calm down, Miss Granger. No one was been seriously hurt at Hogwarts. As it happens, Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley are just outside, if you would like to see them. I just need to check you—hey!”

Hermione didn’t even respond to this. She just leapt up, ran to the door, and threw it open. “Harry! Ron! Thank God! Are you alright? Why are we here? Did something happen at Hogwarts? Oh, God, what day is it?”

“HERMIONE!” Harry and Ron yelled in unison, momentarily shutting her up. They both hugged her, but the Healer pulled her back to the bed again and started casting diagnostic charms.

“It’s the twenty-ninth of May—no, thirtieth, sorry,” Harry said.

“THIRTIETH OF MAY?!” Hermione shrieked. “Exams start in two days! I’m not ready!”

“Ow!” The Healer covered his nearer ear with his hand.

“Hermione, exams have been cancelled,” Harry told her.

“WHA—Mmpf!” The Healer covered her mouth with his hand.

“They announced it an hour ago. Hogwarts is closed for the rest of the term.”

Hermione fainted. Closing the school was tantamount to sacrilege to her.

“Wow, really wound up, this one,” the Healer said. “I think I’ll fetch her a Calming Draught before I wake her up again.”

The next time Hermione woke up, a minute or so later, the Healer tipped a phial of potion into her mouth before she could speak a word. “Drink this, please, Miss Granger,” he said. “I think you need it.”

She blushed but that faded quickly as the potion took effect. “Er, thank you,” she said as the tension magically released. “So, what happened?”

Harry took a deep breath and began to speak: “So we finally found that note in your hand, but then, the Heir took Ginny down to the Chamber. It turns out the Heir was Voldermort the whole time—” The Healer flinched at the name. “—but he was possessing Ginny with a cursed diary, and he tried to steal her life force to come back to life. So me, Ron, and Lockhart figured out that the Chamber was in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, and we went down to save Ginny, but Lockhart turned out to be a complete fraud who’d been stealing other wizards’ stories, and he tried to wipe our memories, but he was using Ron’s wand, and it backfired and wiped his own memory. And then Ron and Lockhart got caught in a rock slide, so I was the only one who could go into the Chamber, and Voldemort was there, and he sicced the basilisk on me, but Fawkes—Dumbledore’s phoenix—showed up and pecked the basilisk’s eyes out, and he gave me a sword, and I killed the basilisk with it. Then, I stabbed the diary with a fang, and it destroyed Voldemort so Ginny was okay again.”

Hermione stared at Harry with a blank look. It was only the Calming Draught that kept her from screaming again several times through that explanation.

Then Ron chimed in: “Also, if Hagrid tells you to follow the spiders, for the love of Merlin, _don_ _’t_.”

“Um…” Hermione said, trying to get her brain back on track. “Why is the school closed, though? The basilisk’s dead, isn’t it.”

“Yes, but apparently, basilisks are considered a weapon of mass destruction,” Harry said. Even with the Calming Draught, Hermione’s squeaked in horror at that one. “When we told Dumbledore what happened, everyone freaked out, and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement interrogated everyone, and now Aurors are searching every inch of the school for dark magic to make sure there aren’t any more basilisks around.”

“They didn’t find any, did they?”

“Not yet, but they found out Scabbers was a criminal in disguise,” Ron said shakily.

“What?”

“He was an unregistered animagus the whole time,” Harry said.

“That means he’s a man who can turn into a rat,” Ron supplied helpfully.

“I know what it means, Ron,” Hermione snapped.

“His real name is Peter Pettigrew,” Harry said. “He used to be one of my parents’ friends, but he’s the one who betrayed them to Voldemort. And he framed their other friend, Sirius Black for killing them—”

“WHAT?!” The three children turned and stared as it was the Healer who shouted this time.

Harry was surprised. He hadn’t thought about the fact that word hadn’t got around this far, yet. “Uh, yeah,” he said. “Sirius Black went to Azkaban, but now he’s getting out…He’s also my godfather.”

“Okay, I think I need a coffee break,” the Healer said, near the point of throwing up his hands. “Um, Miss Granger, you’re free to go. No harm done. But I was told the DMLE’s calling in your parents. You’ll need to wait for them in the lobby.”

“Thank you,” she said, and she calmly rose to her feet. “Wait, why is the DMLE bringing them in?”

“Oh, right,” Harry said. “We’re pretty sure that Lucius Malfoy is the one who gave Ginny the cursed diary that day we were in Diagon Alley, but they need to question everyone who was there to prove it.”

“Oh? You think they can get him on something.”

“We hope so.”

“And Harry, you have a godfather?” she added. “Does this mean you can get away from those awful relatives of yours?”

“Yeah! That reminds me. Madam Bones—she’s the head of the DMLE—she had my aunt and uncle arrested for child neglect.”

Hermione stared blankly at Harry again. “Wow…” she said. “Harry, I really need to not get petrified again. Otherwise I’ll _never_ be able to keep up.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Should an eleven-year-old girl get counselling after being possessed by a cursed diary? Yes? Then I am not JK Rowling and do not own Harry Potter.
> 
> Credit to ARedHair for suggesting the Healers’ overreaction to the basilisk bite.

Daniel and Emma Granger were relaxing on a Sunday afternoon, unsuspecting, when a wizard arrived at their door. The man who rang the bell was heavyset, with prominent jowls, a mop of dirty-blond hair, and an official-looking uniform topped with a brown trench coat. He looked odd enough that they could guess he was a wizard at a glance.

“Are you the parents of Hermione Granger?” he asked.

That seemed an odd thing to ask right off the bat, but Dan dutifully answered, “Yes, we are. Who are you?”

“Auror Odo Proudfoot from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.” He flashed a badge.

“Law enforcement? What’s the matter?”

“I’m afraid your daughter was attacked by a dangerous animal at school—”

“Oh my God!” Emma gasped. “What happened to her? Is this why she hasn’t been writing for the past three weeks? Will she be okay?”

“I’m told she has now made a full recovery, so there is no need to worry. However, all three of you are wanted for questioning regarding a related incident that you witnessed last autumn.”

“Now, wait a minute,” Dan cut in. “You tell us our Hermione was hurt bad enough she couldn’t write for three weeks, and we don’t find out until she’s supposedly fully recovered?”

“I don’t have all the details, Mr. Granger,” Proudfoot said. “My instructions only say that she’s ready to be discharged from the hospital as soon as you pick her up. The Healers can explain better there.”

The Grangers calmed down a little, but they were starting to grow angry. “She’s in the hospital?” Dan said. “Why weren’t we informed when it happened?”

“I honestly don’t know, Mr. Granger,” Proudfoot said testily, “but I do know that ninety percent of the magical law enforcement of this country is currently busy searching Hogwarts for more dangerous creatures, so I really don’t have time for this. Your daughter and the Healers can explain everything when you arrive. Now, please hold onto this.” He produced a bent coat hanger from his robes.

Both Grangers stared at him blankly.

“Please hold on,” he repeated. “And don’t let go.”

They patronisingly reached out and grabbed the coat hanger. Before they could question further, Proudfoot said, “Scots, wha hae wi Wallace bled.” And their world was turned inside-out.

The Grangers landed in a heap on a dirty street outside what looked like a condemned clothing shop.

“What the hell?!” Dan yelled springing to his feet. He looked like he was about to hit Proudfoot, but the wizard practically ignored him.

“This is the hospital,” the Auror said. “It’s disguised, of course. You can find your daughter inside. Now, I really must be going.” And with a pop, he vanished into thin air.

Dan and Emma looked at each other and, for lack of an alternative, went inside the building. The inside looked nothing like the outside. It seemed to be a perfectly normal hospital waiting room, albeit a few decades out of date—all stark, blank walls and that ugly sea-foam green—with lavender accents, for some reason. Their daughter was sitting in the waiting room with that family of redheads they had met last summer.

“Oh, Hermione! Thank goodness! Are you alright?” Emma ran to her and hugged her tight.

“Hi, Mum. Hi, Dad. I’m fine,” Hermione said, as if there were nothing wrong at all.

“But what happened? You haven’t written for three weeks.”

“I’m sorry. I was attacked by a giant snake that turned me into a statue. They only got the antidote in this morning.”

Dan and Emma looked at each other worriedly. Notwithstanding how horrifying that sounded, this wasn’t like their daughter at all.

“Um, are you sure you’re okay, Hermione?” Dan asked.

“Yes. Why?”

“Well, you seem awfully calm about this whole thing.”

“That’s because they gave me a Calming Draught after I fainted when Harry told me the school was closed for the rest of term.”

Hermione’s parents laughed in spite of themselves. “Okay, now _that_ _’s_ our Hermione,” her mother said. “So how were you attacked by a…a giant snake?”

“It’s a very long story, Mum,” she said.

 

#

 

Dan and Emma listened with rapt attention in a small, private side room as Hermione explained the goings on this past year with all the diligence and evenness of a documentarian. They of course demanded to know why she hadn’t told them about the attacks from the start, to which she replied with only a little hesitation that she was afraid they would withdraw her from school. It was then that they learnt that scolding a girl who was under the influence of a Calming Draught was…not ineffective, _per se_ , but definitely awkward. With her muted emotions, Hermione simply accepted the chastisement, apologised and moved on, so that they weren’t entirely certain whether it had taken hold.

Then, as if the giant snake weren’t enough, she explained that it was also classified as a weapon of mass destruction and had triggered the massive search of the school that was going on now. That was the greatest consolation of the whole affair—that Hogwarts would be made thoroughly safe for the students by the next school year.

“That’s good to hear,” Dan said. “We really wouldn’t want to send you back next autumn if it weren’t certified to be safe. It’s good that at least the law enforcement is competent around here. I’m not so sure about that Headmaster of yours.”

“Yes, we’re still not sure why he missed it,” she said. “Of course, the Board of Governors sacked him after I was attacked. But he came back today, and Harry says he was acting perfectly responsible and by-the-book when he found out. I agree with you about the security. Honestly, I think I would have come home at Christmas and tried to switch schools if it weren’t for my friends. I was really scared since muggle-borns were being targeted.”

“Oh, Hermione.” Her mother hugged her again, and she still found Hermione’s lack of a reaction really unsettling. “Well, the…the Healers say you’re alright. Are you ready to come home?”

“I’d like to say goodbye to my friends first, please. With the school and Harry’s home life in flux, I don’t know when I’ll be able to see them again.”

“Um, okay, that’s fine. Let’s see if they’re back in the waiting room again.”

They didn’t see Harry in the waiting room, and the Welcome Witch told them he was still being checked over. However, they did see a wreck of a man stumbling in the door, supported by an Auror. The man had a long, black uncombed beard and was wearing rags with black and white stripes on them. Everyone stared as he was dragged to the front desk.

Sirius Black still couldn’t believe his ears as he was led, stumbling and squinting in the light, into St. Mungo’s. “In light of new evidence, all charges against you have been dropped,” the Aurors had said. He was sure he had finally gone insane. No trial, even? Just let him off? Surely, they had long forgotten that he was never tried in the first place, and surely, the Ministry was too stubborn to ever admit its mistake and call a retrial. And yet, here he was.

“Merlin’s Beard, what happened to him?” the Welcome Witch said.

“Eleven years of dementor exposure,” the Auror replied gruffly.

“What? How—?”

“Never mind that. Fourth floor, I assume?”

“Er, yes, I suppose so. Not technically spell damage, but that’s where the Mind Healers are.”

 

#

 

Harry wasn’t in the waiting room. He was still being bounced around between different departments. He had been examined by a Healer in the creature-induced injuries ward and was found to be fine expect for a few bruises and a recently-healed gash on his arm.

“What’s that from?” the Healer asked.

“Oh, that’s where the basilisk bit me,” Harry said.

“WHAT?!”

“I’m fine, though.”

“You’re _fine?_ You should be—we need to get you to the third floor.”

Before Harry could protest, he was whisked off to the poisonings ward where he was examined again.

“I’m fine, really,” he said. “Fawkes healed it. I feel pretty good, now.”

The Healers were unimpressed. With his continued insistence that he was unhurt and that he just wanted to see his friends again, he was moved up to the mental ward on the fourth floor, where he wound up in a bed next to Ginny. Mrs. Weasley was sitting by her bedside. Lockhart was there too, in the back corner, but he surprisingly wasn’t talking for the moment.

“Oh, h-h-hi, Harry,” Ginny said shyly.

“Hey, Ginny.”

“What are you doing here?”

“They think I’m delusional because I keep saying I’m not hurt. What about you?”

Ginny’s mouth hung open for a minute as she tried to process this. Harry just stared at her, waiting. “I, uh, they say I need a Mind Healer because I was possessed,” she said softly.

“Oh. I guess that makes sense.”

“Mmm…”

“So…we never had a chance to talk before…well, before everybody went crazy.”

Ginny squeaked in fear and turned pale again. “Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry! I didn’t wanna do it!” she babbled. “I never wanted anybody to get hurt—”

“Whoa, whoa, Ginny! It’s okay,” Harry stopped her. “It wasn’t your fault. Tom told me everything down in the Chamber.”

“He did?” Ginny gasped in horror.

“Yeah. He was all gloating about how he manipulated you and stuff so he could control you. It was all his fault. He even tried to do it to me, too. I had the diary for a while, too, remember? I actually believed him at first after he told me Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets.”

Mrs. Weasley patted her on the shoulder. “There, you see, Ginny?” she said softly. “No one blames you.”

“Wait a minute, Mr. Potter,” the Healer who was tending to them interrupted. “ _You_ wrote in the diary, too?”

“Er, yeah. Just the one time, though.”

“And what happened?” The Healer waved his wand over his head.

“I asked him some questions about the Chamber of Secrets, and he showed me a…a memory that made it look like Hagrid was the one behind it, but it was really him. I didn’t tell him anything about myself besides my name, but I think he knew about me from Ginny.”

The Healer frowned. “Are you sure that was all?” he said.

“Yeah.”

“Hmm…something doesn’t look right.” The Healer continued checking for effects of possession and looked confused by what he was seeing. He turned around and waved his wand over Ginny. “No, nothing there.” He turned back to Harry. “So what’s this…?”

He was interrupted, though, as another man was brought into the ward. He was tall and emaciated with a mess of black hair worse than Harry’s and piercing grey eyes that seemed to be the only lifelike part of him.

“My goodness!” Mrs. Weasley said. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Alright, Mr. Black, you’ll need to stay here until the Healers look you over,” said a man in a robe that looked rather like a brown trench coat.

But the thin man froze in the doorway, seemingly not hearing, as his eyes met Harry’s. “James?” he croaked.

“Um…no, I’m Harry.”

“Harry?” he gasped, and he tripped over himself to reach his bedside. “What in Merlin’s name are _you_ doing here?”

“I’m not sure, actually,” Harry quipped. “One minute, I was fighting a giant snake, and the next, the whole world went mad.”

“What?”

“Mr. Black, wasn’t it?” Harry said. “Are you _Sirius_ Black?”

“I—yes, I am. I…uh, take it you know…what really happened, then?”

“You mean how you were framed by Peter Pettigrew? Yeah, Madam Bones told me after she found out he was hiding as my friend, Ron’s, pet rat.”

“Wait wait wait. He was your friend’s _pet_?”

“Yeah?”

“Doesn’t that mean he was in your dorm for what, two years?”

Harry paled at the realisation. “Ew! He slept in Ron’s bed half the time, too.”

“But he never…tried anything?”

“ _WHAT?_!” Mrs. Weasley shrieked.

“ _Not like that_!” Harry yelled.

“What? No! I didn’t mean _that_!” Sirius yelled when he realised what he’d said.

“Okay, I need _all_ of you to calm down,” the Healer said. “I can have my patients upsetting each other.”

“Sorry,” Sirius mumbled. “I meant trying to kill you, Harry.”

“Oh…No, I don’t think so,” Harry replied with an unsettling degree of calm. “He mostly just laid around all day. We only found out when because the Aurors were searching the castle.”

“Why were they searching the castle?”

“Just to be sure there wasn’t another basilisk—”

“WHAT?!”

“Mr. Black!” the Healer warned.

“Sorry. It’s okay. I’m calm. I’m calm.” He didn’t sound it.

“Just drink this.” The Healer handed him a Calming Draught.

Sirius downed the potion with one quick swig. He took a deep breath and managed to keep his voice steady: “Does someone want to explain why there was a basilisk in Hogwarts?”

Harry explained how there had been attacks on muggle-borns over the past year by the Heir of Slytherin, how his friend, Hermione, had figured out that they were caused by a basilisk, how the Heir was Voldemort possessing Ginny, and how he had saved her and stopped Voldemort by killing the giant snake with the Sword of Gryffindor. The mention of Voldemort’s name had the Healer himself reaching for a Calming Draught, and even with the potion, Sirius looked like he might faint by the end of it.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “You disappear for a decade, and suddenly the whole place goes to—”

 _“Ahem,”_ the Healer interrupted, having finished his scans of all three of them. “Mr. Black, I’m frankly amazed that you’re in as good a shape as you are after eleven years in Azkaban. You look like a man who was there half that time. The bad news is that that’s still quite a lot of damage to be dealing with. The good news is that we understand how to fix it pretty well.” He wrote out some prescriptions and explained, “I’m putting you on a special diet and a nutrition potion to help you gain weight, physical therapy to regain your muscle strength, and gradually tapering Euphoria Elixir and Draught of Peace to reset your emotional regulation. You’ll be here at least the next month with all of that, I’m afraid, and we’ll send a Mind Healer twice a week plus being on call to speak with you during that time.”

“Blimey—didn’t know it was that involved,” Sirius groaned.

“Dementors have that effect on people,” the Healer replied. He then turned to Ginny and her mother: “Now, Miss Weasley, you’re showing fairly normal after-effects of possession—if possession were common enough to call it normal, that is. Those should fade on their own with time, although we’ll want to keep an eye on them. I want you to come back once a week for at least one month to have your magic checked, and to talk to a Mind Healer about how you’re coping and anything else that is troubling you.”

Ginny winced, and Mrs. Weasley bit her lip, obviously nervous about something. Harry quickly noticed. “Something wrong, Ginny?” he asked quietly. “I think it _would_ help if you got some counselling.”

Ginny looked down, her ears poking red out of her hair. She stole a glance at her mother, unsure whether she should come out and say it. Finally, she mumbled, “Mind Healers aren’t cheap, Harry.”

“What, don’t you have the NHS?” Harry blurted.

“NHS? Whats that?” Mrs. Weasley said.

“National Health Service? Something where the Ministry pays basic Healer’s costs?”

The Healer sighed loudly. “Mr. Potter, this isn’t the muggle world,” he said. “We’re a long way behind in that regard. The taxpayers who fund the Ministry would never accept it.”

Harry considered that and realised the biggest taxpayers funding the Ministry were probably people like the Malfoys and figured that was probably true. “Oh,” he said again. “Well, I’ll pay for it, then.”

“Harry, we can’t ask you to do that after all you’ve done already,” Mrs. Weasley said.

“I want to, though, Mrs. Weasley. I have gold, and it’s just sitting there. Besides, Ginny’s my friend. It’s important to me that she’s not still being hurt.”

Ginny’s eye grew very wide. “I’m y-y-your f-friend?” she gasped.

“You’re my best mate’s sister. That makes you my friend, too, if you want to be.”

Ginny could only squeak in response to this.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley responded, “but you still don’t owe us anything. We already owe you more than we could ever repay.”

“Well…” Harry groped for a way he could make them feel like they weren’t taking charity. “Let’s call it rent for the summer, then. If Mr. Black is gonna be here for over a month, I’ll still need a place to stay.”

“Call me Sirius, please,” a tired voice said from the next bed.

“You know we’d take you in for free,” Mrs. Weasley said. “We never wanted anything for your time with us last summer, either.”

“I know, Mrs. Weasley, but this way, Ginny can get the help she needs, and it’ll all be square.”

Mrs. Weasley pressed her lips together uncertainly, but she finally said, “Well, I suppose I can talk it over with Arthur. If he’s alright with it, we can do it.”

“Do I really need it, Mum?” Ginny spoke up timidly.

The Healer stepped forward again to convince her: “Miss Weasley, I really do think you should see a Mind Healer. It would help you work things out about what happened. For example, if you don’t mind my asking, the…spirit that possessed you—how did it treat you? Did it interact with you at all?”

Ginny swallowed and nodded uncomfortably. “He was always really nice to me,” she whispered. “I never knew.”

“Then I imagine you’re feeling really betrayed right now?” She nodded again. “And confused? And you already mentioned feeling guilty. A Mind Healer would help you work through those feelings so that they don’t hurt your good relationships later on.”

“He’s right, Ginny,” Mrs. Weasley agreed. “You’ve just been through a terrible experience, and these sorts of things can really hurt you if you don’t have good people supporting you. A Mind Healer is a really good idea. And if Harry is going to be paying for it, I want you to at least try it out.”

“Alright, Mum.”

“Good, now that’s sorted,” the Healer said, “Mr. Potter, _you_ have some nasty-looking dark magic residue on you. At first I thought it was from the diary or the basilisk, but it looks like it’s actually connected with your scar.”

“Is that bad?” Harry and Sirius said in unison, then glanced at each other.

“It’s not _good_. But honestly, I don’t know what to make of it. It’s _old_ —probably from when you got the scar. It doesn’t seem to have affected you since you were a baby, so maybe it’s not a problem, but I think an Unspeakable should look at it, just to be sure.”

“A what?” Harry said.

“An Unspeakable. From the Department of Mysteries.”

Harry gave the Healer a blank look.

“The research division of the Ministry,” Sirius explained.

“Oh.”

Checking the report again, the Healer said, “Other than that, I think you’re free to go, Mr. Potter. Physically, you’re fine. The phoenix tears fully healed the bite, incredible as it seems, and it looks like you didn’t have the diary long enough to do any damage. You’re a little underweight, but the scans say that’s from your metabolism. However, if your upbringing was as bad as the Aurors’ report said, I’d recommend counselling for you, too.”

“Wait, his upbringing?” the previously-sleepy Sirius snapped awake again. “Where are you living, Harry? I imagine the next in line would’ve been my cousin, Andromeda Tonks.”

“Um…actually, I was living with my Aunt Petunia.”

“WHAT?!” he barked and then suppressed himself again. “Healer, I think I’m gonna need another Calming Draught,” he growled. “So how are we defining “bad upbringing,” Harry? I know Petunia couldn’t stand your mum—or magic in general.”

“Erm…making me do all the chores mostly,” Harry lied. He wasn’t comfortable yet saying the whole truth in front of Mrs. Weasley and Ginny, let alone a man he’d just met. “And pretty much ignoring me the rest of the time…”

Sirius growled again, but his growl subsided when he downed the Calming Draught.

Harry was a little nervous. His godfather didn’t seem particularly emotionally stable. It must have something to do with those dementor things he heard the Healer talking about. “Amelia Bones just had them arrested for child neglect, so I don’t have to go back there,” he tried to assure him.

“Arrested?” Mrs. Weasley gasped. “Oh, you poor dear. I didn’t believe Ron when he said it was that bad. Well, you’d be welcome to stay with us anyway, but I’m glad you’re getting away from them.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Weasley.”

“If you want to find Arthur and the boys, they’ll be in the tearoom on the fifth floor.”

Harry was about to do just that when there was a commotion at the door.

 

#

 

Remus Lupin was not having a fine day. It had started when Aurors showed up his door, asked for his name and said, “You’re wanted for questioning at the Ministry.” Without even waiting for his answer—and whilst wearing dragon-hide gloves, no less—they’d grabbed him and dragged him to London on the spot. This wasn’t the first time that had happened, but he could tell they were in an especially bad mood, and more importantly, it made absolutely no sense today since it had been over three weeks since the last full moon.

Then, things started to get downright surreal as he was brought before Amelia Bones herself, and she started asking him a lot of questions about Sirius and Peter, some going back past the war all the way to their school days. And even then, the questions made no sense, like, “Was Pettigrew acting suspicious in the weeks before Halloween of 1981?” and that was just for starters. Remus had actually tried to correct Madam Bones and say that she must have meant Sirius, but she informed him that, no, she definitely meant Peter Pettigrew.

Finally, Madam Bones explained what was happening: Peter was not only alive, but in her custody and was a marked Death Eater. He was now suspected of being the real traitor instead of Sirius. When asked, Remus informed her that he most definitely did _not_ know anything about this, which she could probably guess because he nearly fainted when he heard it. And from there, he’d heard the whole sordid tale.

In that light, it was a little understandable that the Aurors were being rough on him. Amelia was civil enough, but everyone else was cracking under the stress already and didn’t want to deal with a werewolf. The entire department was scrambling to search Hogwarts, get the students home safely, deal with Sirius’s case, and still try to maintain the peace, so they didn’t have much energy to spare.

That didn’t mean he was happy about being manhandled.

Remus suppressed the urge to growl, as he had done his whole life (for to do so would be disastrous) as the Auror hurried him along to the mental ward on the fourth floor of St. Mungo’s after Madam Bones had determined he’d done nothing suspicious.

“Excuse me, Healer,” the Auror said curtly when they reached the door. “I’ve got a friend of Mr. Black’s here to see him—a Remus Lupin—just got cleared at the Ministry. Should I send him in?”

“Mr. Black—?”

“Remus? Of course!” Sirius called.

Remus was nudged inside where he saw what looked like a wild man lying on one of the beds—emaciated with sunken eyes, matted hair, and an unkempt black beard. “Sirius,” he said, still reeling from his world being turned upside-down.

“Alright, Lupin, here you go,” the Auror said. “We’ll contact you if we need more information. And be careful, Healer. He’s a registered werewolf.”

Lupin gaped while the red-haired woman by the first bed squeaked in fear and pulled her equally frightened daughter close to her. The Healer eyed him warily. A school-aged boy looked around in confusion.

“That was _supposed_ to be confidential,” Remus yelled after the Auror.

He turned back around when he heard the boy ask, “When’s the next full moon?”

Remus faced the boy, who looked uncertain about the question, as if he wasn’t sure whether it was proper to ask it. But then, he recognised that the boy was—incredibly—Harry Potter, and he lowered his gaze sadly. That Auror had just made sure he’d made the worst first impression possible. “Fourth of June,” he said resignedly.

“Then why’s everyone so scared?” Harry asked without hesitation.

The Healer and the two Weasley women goggled at him, but Sirius burst out laughing. It was a short-lived laugh thanks to the Calming Draughts, but it was heartfelt nonetheless. “Oh, Harry, that was brilliant,” he said. “This is Remus Lupin. He was my and your parents’ best friend back in the day.”

“Oh. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Lupin.” Harry shook his hand without reservation, and that gesture alone was enough to make Remus have to fight back tears.

“Um…pleased to meet you, Harry,” he stammered. Something told him that the boy hadn’t meant that as a prank. “And…just Remus is fine…” he added. “So does somebody want to tell me what’s going on here?”

Harry sighed dramatically: “One minute, I was fighting a giant snake, and then…”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Is telling literally no one besides your double agent about your secret plan to kill the bad guy a good idea? No? Then I am not JK Rowling and do not own Harry Potter.
> 
> Credit to Mad Library Scientist for the idea of showing Moody and Tonks searching the castle.
> 
> Credit to troyguffey and bookaddict19 for Ron mentioning the acromantula nest.
> 
> Credit to mwinter1 for Harry mentioning facing Voldemort in his first year.

The Offices of the Chief Warlock at the Ministry of Magic went unused most of the time. Today, however, they were bustling with activity. By mid-afternoon, Albus Dumbledore had set up a remote command centre for the search of Hogwarts and the investigation into the basilisk. In addition to the DMLE search, Dumbledore and McGonagall had also started their own internal investigation to reconstruct the basilisk’s and Ginny’s movements and figure out how neither of them were detected. They stood around a large blueprint of the castle on a table that Dumbledore had drawn up with X’s and lines drawn across it.

“Miss Granger was attacked here, outside the library,” Minerva said, pointing to the blueprint. “However, Mr. Potter indicated that he heard the basilisk _before_ she ran to the library here, at the base of the Grand Staircase—clear on the other side of the castle.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore agreed. “Now, this was immediately after breakfast, which indicates that ‘Tom,’ in possession of Miss Weasley, left breakfast early to summon the basilisk and attack his next target while the students were on the way to the match.” He drew a line from Myrtle’s bathroom to the Grand Staircase, making it a dotted line towards the end, since they weren’t exactly sure where Ginny had gone.

“But Mr. Potter reported that ‘Tom’ was already after Miss Granger, even before she figured out that the monster was a basilisk,” McGonagall said.

“And so he was. I suspect that Tom moved towards where Miss Weasley knew Miss Granger would be after breakfast and then either witnessed the entire exchange, or at least saw Miss Granger rushing to the library, deduced that she had discovered the nature of the monster, and pursued her more intently.” He traced Hermione’s and Ginny’s likely paths in different colours and then began tracing the plumbing system of the castle along the route wherever the pipes were large enough for a basilisk as large as Harry described to slip through.

“Excuse me, Chief Warlock,” one of the DMLE interns interrupted from the door. “There’s a Remus Lupin here to see you. He says he has information for the investigation.”

“Alright, send him in,” Dumbledore said, and a scruffy-looking man was ushered in the door. “Ah, Remus, it’s good to see you again,” he greeted him warmly.

“You as well, Albus, Minerva,” he replied wearily. “I’m guessing you aren’t having any better day than I am.”

“The worst two days of teaching of my career,” McGonagall said bitterly. “And I taught _you_.”

Remus gave a weak smile. “I’ve just been to see Sirius and Harry,” he said.

“Excellent. And how are they doing?” Dumbledore asked.

“Sirius is still pretty out of it, honestly. Harry’s fine. It looks like he’ll be with the Weasleys the rest of the summer. Anyway, I wanted to see you because I have some information—I talked it over with Sirius, and we weren’t sure we wanted to give away our secret, but it’s for a good cause. You see, when we were students, we created a map of Hogwarts that shows where everyone in the castle is in real time.”

“You did what?” McGonagall exclaimed. “No wonder you never got caught out at anything after your third year! You could always see us coming!”

“Ah, the resourcefulness of determined children,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “And you think that this map will help us?”

“Not as it is now,” said Remus. “I thought maybe between the two of us, we could figure out how to get it to show magical creatures. It’s tied into the wards, so it can’t lie, but it’ll need some work to do what we need.”

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Yes…yes…” he said. “I think I see the principles you were working from. I believe it could be useful. Let’s see this map, Remus.”

“Well, that’s the other problem, Albus. I don’t actually _have_ it. Filch confiscated it from us in our seventh year.”

 

#

 

Mad-Eye Moody, Gawain Robards, and Auror Trainee Don’t-Call-Me-Nymphadora Tonks climbed up from the dungeons, casting detection spells as they went. Hogwarts Castle was still filled with fog, and the search would easily take days to come. The dorms were the simplest part to search. No hidden doors, moving staircases, or shifting rooms there. The main body of the castle had far more nooks and crannies.

“Alright, that’s the Slytherin dorms clear. Now comes the hard part,” Moody said. They had a bag full of contraband and a couple more cats to carry out, but they’d finished the job. They were making good time, considering Moody had been pulled away to deal with Pettigrew this morning.

“Yeah, because the Slytherin dorms were easy,” Tonks said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve never seen trained attack _cats_ before.”

“Occupational hazard, kid,” Moody said. “Come on.”

They crossed the Entrance Hall to get back to the Floo to check in when they saw shadowy shapes moving in the fog.

“Who goes there?” Moody said, raising his wand.

“Team Badger reporting in,” a weary voice replied. Williamson, Dawlish, and Crickerly met them going into Great Hall. “The Hufflepuff dorms are clear.”

“And are you sure you checked them _thoroughly_?” Moody growled.

“We can’t check the whole place ourselves, Mad-Eye,” Robards reminded him.

“Fine. We just got done with Slytherin.”

“Good. We got a priority request from Dumbledore,” Williamson said. “Someone needs to search Filch’s office. Apparently, there’s a confiscated map of the school in there that shows where everybody is.”

“We’ll take that,” Moody said. “Pinkie here knows that office better than anybody.”

“And proud of it,” Tonks quipped.

“We just need to drop this stuff off first,” Robards told them. “You start sweeping the rest of the ground floor. We’re leaving the rest of the dungeons for the end.”

“Got it. Here’s the info on the map.”

Team Snake took the information, connected with Madam Bones, and dropped off their confiscated loot and then proceeded to Filch’s office.

“It’s a good thing that nutter keeps everything organised,” Tonks said. “Looks like he’s got a whole drawer for those four.” She started going through the filing cabinets, checking each folder for enchantments.

“You sure it’ll be in there?” asked Moody.

“No, but it should be in with their files…” She looked around the office again. “Could be in that drawer than says “Confiscated and Extremely Dangerous,” though.”

“Aye. Good thinking, kid. Empty, though.” Of course, he’d already checked it.

“Seriously? Woulda thought old Filchy would actually have something confiscated and extremely dangerous _in_ there.”

“Not today, looks like. Unless he already took it with him—or it’s a clever misdirection.”

“Nah, Filch isn’t that clever,” Tonks said, still riffling through folders. “If he labels something that, he means it.”

“Better be thorough, just in case,” Moody insisted.

They were _very_ thorough. They turned Filch’s entire office upside-down, no doubt giving some hapless student with detention plenty to do next autumn. But even with Moody’s eye, they couldn’t find the Marauder’s Map anywhere.

 

#

 

“You think I remember everything I ever confiscated from you hooligans?” Filch said to Remus upon being questioned by him and Dumbledore. “All I know is if I took it from _you_ , I woulda filed it “Confiscated and Extremely Dangerous.” I wasn’t about to take any chances with you lot.”

“Then why isn’t it there, Argus?” Dumbledore asked. “The Aurors searched your entire office.”

“Why do you think, Albus? The Weasley twins raided that drawer three years ago.”

 

#

 

“Who are you again?” demanded Fred Weasley.

“And how do you know about the _alleged_ Marauder’s Map?” George enquired. They _really_ didn’t want to bring this up in front of McGonagall.

“Because I’m Moony, and I helped make that map,” Remus growled.

Fred and George stared at each other with wide eyes, and George withdrew a blank piece of parchment from his robes. “If you can open it, you can have it,” he said.

Remus tapped his wand to the parchment and said, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” The map of Hogwarts appeared at once.

“Whoa…” the Twins said in unison.

“Thank you, boys. This will be very helpful.”

“You know that doesn’t show the Chamber of Secrets, right?” Fred checked.

“Yeah,” George agreed. “We couldn’t find Ginny on it when she went missing.”

“I know, but hopefully, Professor Dumbledore and I will be able to rectify that,” Remus told him.

Remus went off to see Dumbledore, but Professor McGonagall stopped the Twins before they could get away.

“Now, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley,” she said sternly, “Auror Shacklebolt informed me that he found a rather large amount of contraband in your dormitory.”

Fred and George grinned nervously.

“There wasn’t anything illegal in there, was there, Professor?” George asked.

“No, there wasn’t, fortunately for you,” she said. _Which is more than I can say for some of the Slytherins,_ she added to herself. “However, there were quite a few items that are not allowed in the school, so—”

“Ah ah ah, Professor,” Fred interrupted. “Term ended early. You can’t give us detention now.”

“No, but I _can_ tell your mother everything they found.”

Fred’s and George’s faces fell. “Can we take the detention instead?” they asked in unison.

 

#

 

“I’m calling off the search of the castle for the night,” Amelia Bones told Dumbledore as the light was fading for the day. “It’ll be that much harder to deal with that magical fog at night.”

“Quite understandable,” Dumbledore agreed. There was really no rush since the school was officially closed for the summer.

“Since the dorms are clear, you can send some house elves in to get the students’ possessions. We’ll set up a claim area tomorrow for them to pick them up. Just be sure to order the elves very clearly not to stray outside the dorms.”

“I’ll see to it right away, Amelia.”

“Good. Now, Pettigrew’s trial date is set for as soon as we can spare the Aurors. He won’t be getting away again. We found enough evidence to arrest the Harry’s guardians, too. They’re in custody now, and we sent the cousin to stay with his aunt. I’ll have to speak to Mr. Potter again tomorrow to get the rest of his story.”

“Unfortunate, but there’s nothing we can do about that, now,” Dumbledore said. He was still reeling from that revelation. He knew the Dursleys didn’t like Harry, but he never imagined they’d be outright abusive. Sadly, the blood wards were a lost cause, but at least Harry would be happy and hopefully safe enough with the Weasleys.

“And the Mind Healers say they don’t think Lockhart is getting out of St. Mungo’s anytime soon, so that just leaves the investigation against Lucius Malfoy,” Amelia concluded. “I interviewed the Grangers this afternoon, and I’ve asked the Weasleys to come back in tomorrow.”

“Very good, Amelia. I hadn’t thought we would have enough evidence to take action against him, but that’s why you’re the head of Head of Magical Law Enforcement, and I’m a lowly schoolteacher.”

“You flatter me, Albus. You’re far more than a lowly schoolteacher. _However_ , there is still the matter of this cursed diary. What do you know about it?”

“I suspect you already know everything of importance,” Dumbledore told her. “It was Voldemort’s diary when he was a student. When his efforts at opening the Chamber of Secrets became untenable in 1943, he cursed it to possess anyone who wrote in it and finish his work. When Harry stabbed it with the basilisk fang, he destroyed the enchantments.”

“And that’s it?” Amelia asked shrewdly.

“Should there be anything more?” Albus said cagily. He had a bad feeling she was on to him.

“Albus, the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction is something both we and the ICW take very seriously. You know that,” she reminded him. “A cursed artifact that unleashes a basilisk needs to be investigated _very_ thoroughly. I spoke with Croaker in the Department of Mysteries, and he’s concerned that it might have been a horcrux.”

Albus froze, suddenly turning more serious than he had been since early that morning. With a wave of his hand, he closed the door and set Imperturbable Wards around the entire office. Amelia looked around suspiciously and raised her eyebrow at him. “You know about horcruxes?” he asked.

Amelia’s jaw dropped. “Albus, I’m the Head of Magical Law Enforcement! You just said it yourself. It’s my _job_ to know about horcruxes. _This_ is why you kept saying Voldemort isn’t dead, isn’t it? You knew the whole time! Did you think you were going to do all of this yourself?”

Albus held up a hand to calm her. “I had suspicions, no more,” he said. “I knew he was alive, but there were many possibilities as to how. I had no evidence until I saw the diary.”

“Hmph. You still should have told me. So is Voldemort gone for good now, or what?”

“Sadly, I think not. A horcrux is meant to cheat death. Voldemort would never have been so brazen as to turn his only path to immortality into a weapon and thus potentially put it in harm’s way.”

“So if he did that to the diary…” Amelia paled.

“He must have made more than one.”

“Merlin help us. How many? How many horcruxes is it even _possible_ to make?”

“I don’t know. I suspect not many, though. And I have some leads on the subject that may be worth pursuing.”

“Good. Get on those as soon as you have time…We’ll have to keep this under wraps for now. Fudge has been furious all day. He won’t go for an investigation into Voldemort.”

“And there are still free Death Eaters out there,” Albus added.

“Yes, there are. We’ll keep it to the two of us, Croaker…and Moody to start with. I know he worked with you during the war. Write down everything you know or think you know and get it to me in the morning. I’ll file it somewhere safe.”

“Very well, Amelia. Perhaps, with a little luck, we can end the threat of Voldemort for good.”

 

#

 

Sadly, even after that revelation, the next day’s investigations were no less headache-inducing for Amelia Bones.

“So the school is seriously closed for the summer, ma’am?” asked a little-bit-too-excited Ronald Weasley.

“Yes, Mr. Weasley,” she said. “We need to make sure there are no more dangerous creatures to worry about in the school.”

The boy got a queer look on his face and thought for a minute. Then, he said, “Does the nest of giant talking spiders in the Forbidden Forest count?”

“WHAT?!”

 

#

 

Harry Potter’s story was the longest, even after yesterday’s interview, since he was nominally focusing on his muggle relatives. In retrospect, Amelia thought perhaps she should have interviewed him first. Or maybe last. Or maybe moved to Australia where things made sense.

It had started once again with an innocent comment from her: “You must be very brave, Mr. Potter. And very lucky. Not many people have ever faced Voldemort twice and lived.”

Harry tilted his head and said, “Are you counting when I was a baby, ma’am? Because in that case, it’s three.”

“Three? What do you mean, three?”

“I faced him at the end of my first year, too. He was possessing Professor Quirrell.”

Amelia sighed heavily: “Scrimgeour, we need to open _another_ investigation file. And someone do me a favour and hex Dumbledore for me.”

 

#

 

The Aurors searching the castle were having a somewhat better time of it, but even they were running into some surprises.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Moody said, stopping in front of a large, ornate cabinet with some obviously broken panels.

“What? It’s an old, busted wardrobe,” Tonks said. “Or that’s what it _looks_ like,” she added quickly, knowing Mad-Eye had probably spotted something more than that.

“Wardrobe my arse,” he growled. “This, here, is a vanishing cabinet, Pinkie.”

“A what cabinet?”

“Vanishing cabinet. They’re made in pairs. You put something in one, and it’s instantly transported to the other. It could be an unauthorised way into the school.”

“Ohhh…Still busted, though.”

“Doesn’t matter. Someone could fix it up and use it. We’ll need to track down the other one and see where it comes out.”

“Alright, how do we do that if it’s busted?”

“Well, if we’re lucky, it’s not ‘busted’ badly enough…” Moody summoned a gauntlet from a nearby suit of armour and put a tracking charm on it before shutting it inside the cabinet. There was a loud pop accompanied by a sound like cracking wood. “There. Now, we just need to ask the Boss if she can find it again.”

“Oh. That’s simple.”

 

#

 

The DMLE weren’t the only ones investigating today, either. Minerva McGonagall was still working on the internal Hogwarts investigation. There were a lot of questions to be answered, such as how an eleven-year-old girl with four older brothers in the school could go around partially-possessed for months without them noticing.

“I realise this is a little unorthodox, Healer Nimue, but with a weapon of mass destruction involved, we have to get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible. I hope you understand,” McGonagall said.

Psyche Nimue, a highly-recommended Mind Healer from St. Mungo’s who had joined McGonagall, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and Ginny to discuss the events of the past year, scratched a little note on her notepad and nodded. “I’d prefer to do this kind of evaluation with just the family, of course, Professor, but school counselling is not unheard of. Now, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, I’d like to make today about listening and understanding why Ginny did what she did—without judging. Once we know the full story, we can decide what, if anything, needs to be done about it.”

“Alright, then,” Mrs. Weasley said. She still looked wiped out after yesterday and a little weepy, but she was doing much better than she was.

“Professor, is that acceptable to you?” Nimue asked McGonagall.

“Yes. That will probably be all I need.”

“Good. Ginny, I’d like for you to tell me the story from the beginning, when you first found the diary. But if there’s anything you don’t want to talk about now, you can skip it, and we can talk about it later, okay.”

“O-okay,” Ginny said with a sniffle, and she haltingly began telling what happened last autumn. She’d found the diary in with her schoolbooks, so she’d assumed that it had been a surprise present from her parents, or even from Fred and George, since a talking diary sounded like something they’d come up with. Therefore, she hadn’t been suspicious when it had started writing back to her. Tom had gone along with her theory and had acted nice and caring long enough for her to trust him before he tried anything malicious. And then, by the time she realised what was happening to her, she was too deep into it to get out again.

“I…I thought I’d done it…” she said softly when she got to the attack on Mrs. Norris. “I-it looked like I’d done it. I’d seen the feathers and the paint and everything. B-but I couldn’t remember doing it. And I couldn’t figure out how I could’ve done it, or why. “Cause not even Dumbledore knew what’d happened to Mrs. Norris. But I was scared I’d be expelled if anyone found out—”

McGonagall started to say something, but Healer Nimue cut her off. “Why were you scared you’d be expelled, Ginny?” she asked.

“Well, Percy was talking about people being expelled. And Snape wanted Ron and Harry expelled when they crashed the car, and he wanted Harry off the Quidditch team. And later, Hagrid got arrested just because Fudge thought he’d done something…”

“If you were afraid you would be expelled,” McGonagall said cautiously, “Did you consider going to Fred and George for help? They have a certain…disregard for the rules.”

“I thought about it, but T-Tom said it would be safer if no one knew. Plus, I was scared Percy would find out and turn me in. He was always snooping around and yelling at Ron, Fred, and George when they were bad for making him look bad “cause he wants to be Head Boy.”

“Ginny—” Mrs. Weasley started.

“Miss Weasley—” McGonagall said.

“Please,” Healer Nimue cut them off. “What makes you say that about Percy, Ginny? Did Percy say that?”

“No…It was Ron, Fred, and George, mostly. But Percy _was_ talking about Ron getting expelled after Mrs. Norris…”

“Was he?” McGonagall said in surprise. “Ronald was never in danger of being expelled except for the car incident.”

“Hmm…” the Healer mused. “It looks as if there are quite a few misunderstandings regarding Percy here. It might be helpful to bring him into this session, if you’re all fine with that.”

 

#

 

“ _I_ said Ron would be expelled?” Percy said in surprise. “No! I thought _you_ thought he’d be expelled because he was found with Mrs. Norris. You seemed so sensitive all year, I just thought you were overreacting, and I wanted Ron to spare your feelings. Plus I thought he really _would_ be in trouble if he kept snooping around where the attacks were.”

“Your brothers seemed to be under the impression that you resented them making you look bad because it would hurt your chances of becoming Head Boy,” Healer Nimue said.

Percy sputtered a little. “Well…I wouldn’t put it _that_ way, ma’am,” he said uneasily.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow at him: “ _Oh?_ And just how _would_ you put it, Mr. Weasley?”

“Well, Professor, it’s just that…what does it say about how I handle my house if I can’t even control my own brothers?”

“Ha! Mr. Weasley, anyone who can control Fred and George deserves a _medal_ , not a badge,” she said. “And with as much trouble as Ronald gets into with Mr. Potter, I’m inclined to say the same about him. Unfortunately, I _will_ have to take this into account when determining if you are suited for the Head Boy or Prefect positions next year.”

Percy’s jaw dropped in horror, but he couldn’t seem to articulate a coherent protest.

“It’s your own fault, Percy,” Mrs. Weasley said before he could make a scene. “Even if most of what you did was innocent, if Ginny looked poorly for that long, you should have gone to Madam Pomfrey again. And you should have been more attentive to her instead of just assuming what she was thinking.”

Percy hung his head. “I understand, Mum,” he said.

“There’s just one other thing, Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall said. “Did you at any point suspect Ginny was behind the attacks?”

Percy’s head snapped up. “Of course not, Professor,” he said. “If I had, I would’ve come to you right away. And I wouldn’t have let them expel you if you didn’t know what you were doing, Ginny,” he added to his sister.

Ginny stared at him, wide-eyed. “B-but…” she stammered. “I thought you were onto me. You were always following me around. I-I almost told Harry and Ron what was going on that day before you…”

The colour drained from Percy’s face. “Me? Wait, _that_ was what you were trying to tell them?” he said. “Oh, Merlin’s pants! I had no idea, Ginny. I thought you were going to tell about me when I was—” He abruptly shut his mouth and went from white to red so fast that it couldn’t be healthy.

“Oh, that?” Ginny said nonchalantly. “I barely even noticed that.”

“What’s all this about?” Mrs. Weasley asked.

“Er…I was embarrassed, Mum, and…” Percy muttered.

“I saw Percy kissing Penny while she was petrified,” Ginny said.

“Ginny!”

“Percy!”

Minerva McGonagall groaned, shaking her head. She rubbed her temples and thought, _Lord spare me from lovesick teenagers._

 

#

 

Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt returned from his Floo call to the suspect corridor on the seventh floor. After securing the dorms, Team Lion and Team Eagle had set out from their respective common rooms to begin searching the rest of the castle from the top down while the other teams set out from the bottom up. Some more teams had been brought in today to move out from Professor McGonagall’s office, the Great Hall, the Headmaster’s office, and so on. Team Lion had been stalled on this corridor for quite some time, however.

 _We need to see what_ _’s in here_ , Shaklebolt thought as he rejoined his team. It looked like a blank wall. The blueprints said it was a blank wall. But the magic clearly said there was something behind it. “Dumbledore says there’s nothing here on his map,” he reported, “but he also says Hogwarts has secrets even he doesn’t know.”

“Well, we already knew the Chamber of Secrets wasn’t on the map,” Auror Savage observed. “There’s probably some kind of pass code to get in. We just need to figure out what it is.” She did another pass down the corridor, casting detection spells. _We need to see what_ _’s behind here_ , she thought.

“No serpents that I can see around here, so it’s probably not Parseltonuge,” Auror Li said. He tried some more of the basic cursebreaking techniques he knew, to no avail. “I don’t suppose it’ll just open to “Open Sesame’?”

“I doubt it,” Shaklebolt said. “There are so many kinds of trick doors around here, it could be anything.”

“Hmm…” Li finished his pass of the blank stretch of wall and started back the other way. _We need to see what_ _’s hidden here,_ he thought.

Suddenly, a large, ornate door appeared from nowhere in the blank wall.

“You did it!” Savage said. “Finally! What did you do?”

“I have no idea.”

“Well, let’s see what’s inside,” Shaklebolt said. “Wands at the ready…” He opened the door.

“Whoa…” all three of them said.

“We’re gonna need backup,” Auror Li said.

“A lot of backup,” Auror Shacklebolt agreed.

“Like the entire Department of Mysteries kind of backup,” Auror Savage chimed in.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Would a properly-functioning magic school have a secret Lost and Found that even the Headmaster didn’t know about? No? Then I am not JK Rowling and do not own Harry Potter.
> 
> Credit to syed for investigating the curse on the Defence Professorship, for the Aurors confiscating Harry’s invisibility cloak, and for addressing what happens to Dobby.
> 
> Credit to magitech for people noticing that Luna’s things were stolen.
> 
> Credit to Priestess of Groove for checking the House Elf Registration Office for Dobby’s name.
> 
> Credit to KrisB-71854 for exposing dirty dealings between Lucius and Fudge.
> 
> To clarify, the vanishing cabinet in canon was still on the first floor when Fred and George shoved Montague into it in Order of the Phoenix and wasn’t moved to the Room of Requirement until after that.

Amelia was baffled by this latest request from her Aurors. “As many Unspeakables as we can spare? Why?” she demanded.

“We found the Lost and Found,” Auror Shacklebolt said, “and it looks like it hasn’t been cleaned out for a thousand years.”

“Hogwarts has a Lost and Found?” Amelia asked, turning to Dumbledore.

“I’m as surprised as you are,” Dumbledore answered. “Normally, the house elves return anything they find if they can.”

“What does this Lost and Found look like, Shacklebolt?” she said.

“It’s as big as the Great Hall. Maybe bigger. We’re worried about going too far into it, but from what we can see from the door, it looks like most of the space is taken up by piles of discarded furniture. I can also see stacks of mouldy books, piles of used cauldrons, cabinets of expired potions ingredients, a lot of student contraband, and pixies breeding in the rafters—and that’s only the stuff I can identify.”

Naturally, it was the stuff he _couldn_ _’t_ identify that was most worrying, and if some of that stuff really was centuries old, there was no telling what could be in there. “Alright, I get the picture,” Amelia said and sighed: “I’ll go track down Croaker and tell him we need to call some teams away for the search. We’ll send them with the first shift tomorrow.”

“Got it, boss. We’ll mark the spot and meet them here.” Shacklebolt’s head disappeared from the fireplace.

“First the horcruxes and now this,” she muttered. “Not to mention disrupting the Ministry’s business for a third day in a row. If we don’t have a shake-up in the government after all this, we’ll be lucky.”

“We must all do the best we can, Amelia,” Dumbledore said.

 

#

 

Amelia entered her office the next morning to find piles of paperwork backed up on her desk. She sighed when she saw them. She’d put off most of the paperwork the last two days and it was quickly coming back to bite her. “Alright, Scrimgeour, what’s the situation?” she asked.

Rufus Scrimgeour entered to give her her daily briefing. “Croaker’s putting his team together now to check the Lost and Found,” he said. “We brought in a bunch of stuff for the Lockhart file from his office. Can you believe he was wearing a wig the whole time?”

“I don’t care. What else?”

“Professor McGonagall requested a couple of Unspeakables to investigate the alleged curse on the Defence Professorship.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me. Forward it to Croaker. Anything else?”

“We’re still building our case against Malfoy, so just the paperwork for the moment.”

“Lovely. And refresh my memory: what is all this?”

“This stack, here, is the paperwork for the diversion of resources for the search,” Scrimgeour said, pointing to one of the piles on her desk. “This stack is the paperwork for searching the castle and the students’ chambers. _This_ one is claims by students for possessions that weren’t returned to them. You’ve got a list of illegal items confiscated from the castle over here. _And_ this is the list of complaints you’ve got from Fudge as of this morning.”

“Right. Keep up the search, then. Notify me of anything important.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Scrimgeour left, and Amelia started sifting through her paperwork. The largest piles all just needed the same rubber stamp: there was a damn basilisk spotted at Hogwarts, so yes, they bloody well _did_ have to drop everything and search through everybody’s stuff. That was tedious, but not difficult. She set aside the memos from Fudge; he could wait. And she pushed aside the list of illegal items. Most illegal items students were likely to have would be small fish, and she only had staff to spare for the big fish just now.

Out of curiosity, she picked up the list of lost items claimed by the students. This sort of thing would never have reached her desk if Scrimgeour and every other Auror weren’t busy with the rest of this mess. There were sure to be a few fraudulent claims, but teenagers usually weren’t very bright about such things, and they could pick them out easily. But the list could still make for interesting reading—perhaps a little _too_ interesting, as she found several worrying line-items on it. These she took to Dumbledore for further investigation.

Albus Dumbledore was still in his Chief Warlock’s offices, hovering over his blueprint of Hogwarts, which now had the areas of the castle that had been searched shaded off. Amelia noted that the pipes had been inked in, with valves marked where they had been cut off, so any basilisks couldn’t get all around the castle by their usual routes.

“Good morning, Amelia,” the Chief Warlock said when he spotted her. “It looks like our search is back on schedule. Can I help you?”

“I just need some clarification on a few things, Albus,” she said, holding up the list. “I’ve got a request from Harry Potter saying that his invisibility cloak wasn’t returned to him.”

“It wasn’t? Oh, dear. I should hope it won’t be too hard to find.”

“Probably not, but why does Potter _have_ an invisibility cloak?”

“He inherited from his father,” Dumbledore said, as if that explained everything.

Amelia gave him a stern look: “Do I really need to ask the next question?”

“The cloak is a Potter Family heirloom, which I allowed him to keep at school for his safety,” he clarified.

“Fine job _that_ _’s_ done,” she muttered. “But if it’s legally his, I can’t bar him from getting it back. Okay, do you know Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle?”

“Yes, two Slytherin boys in second year. Why?”

“Those two were the only ones stupid enough to request we return their restricted dark artifacts to them. I’ll have to at least fine them for possession—if I ever have the time.”

Dumbledore looked divided between being mildly amused and concerned for his students. “I’ll relay that to Severus,” he said. “He’ll probably be better to approach their families.”

“Very well. Just make sure someone keeps an eye on them. And lastly, do you know a Luna Lovegood?”

“Luna Lovegood…first year Ravenclaw, I believe. Her father is the editor of _The Quibbler_.”

“She gave us a long list of missing items—a lot more than any of the other students—and not much that was expensive, either. From the look of it, I’d say she’s either a compulsive liar, or someone stole of lot of her stuff.”

Dumbledore frowned with concern: “I do not know of any complaints about Miss Lovegood’s own behaviour, so I would think the latter is more likely. I will ask Filius to look into it either way.”

“Good. I’ll have someone check if any of her things were dumped into storage here, but I can’t make any promises.”

With the students taken care of and her questioning of the witnesses to the Flourish and Blotts incident done, there were mercifully few surprises today, and she actually was able to get through her paperwork and find some time to work on her next most pressing priority besides the search of Hogwarts: the Malfoy case. That was still very tricky. She had a lot of circumstantial evidence, but nothing ironclad—not quite. She needed an excuse to question the Malfoys about the basilisk incident directly before she could make a move on them without being crucified by the Minister’s office. Fortunately, she had one more trick up her sleeve for that, which was why Amelia was glad when Auror Proudfoot came bursting into her office that afternoon.

“Jackpot, ma’am,” he said. “I got that warrant to check the House Elf Registration Office for an elf named Dobby, like you wanted, and guess who owns him.”

“Who?”

“Lucius Malfoy.”

“Excellent,” Amelia said with a wicked grin. “Get a team together, Proudfoot. We’re ready to go.”

 

#

 

It was decided to catch Lucius Malfoy at the Ministry. Even in the present crisis, he was out and about, doing his usual business there, and given that he was a suspected Death Eater, Amelia expected he would a powerful and deadly duellist. Thus, a semi-public setting where he could be easily surrounded by Aurors looked to be the way to go rather than trying to capture him on his home turf. She wouldn’t have dared, of course, without solid evidence, but she wouldn’t have dared go after him at all without solid evidence, so it didn’t make much difference.

Narcissa, Draco, and Dobby were all at the family manor in Wiltshire, and Amelia was comfortable enough sending Scrimgeour to bring them in from there. An intelligent mother who was known not to carry the Dark Mark, a thirteen-year-old boy, and a house elf who, according to Potter, didn’t want to be there didn’t sound like much of a threat.

Not that she wasn’t cautious. She sent Scrimgeour, Proudfoot, _and_ Gore to collect them. That was certainly a disturbing sight when Narcissa Malfoy came to the door at Dobby’s summons. She stared at the three Aurors, quickly analysing the situation. She could think of a number of reasons for them to be there, none of them good. Lucius wasn’t home, and if she couldn’t talk her way out of this, there would be trouble from all sides.

“Can I help you, Head Auror Scrimgeour,” she said guardedly.

“Narcissa Malfoy,” he replied. “I’ve been asked to bring you and your son in for questioning regarding the recent events at Hogwarts.”

She raised a single eyebrow at them. That wasn’t what she was expecting, but it definitely worried her. Of course, it could be just a generic probe. “Are we under arrest?” she tested.

“No, ma’am, but you are wanted for questioning regarding your husband’s possible involvement in recent events.”

Okay, definitely bad. Amelia Bones must know he was involved somehow, and despite Lucius’s repeated assurances, she must have solid evidence to tie it back to him, or it never would have got this far. She considered her options. She’d never fully understood what was happening, but she’d had reservations about this “Heir of Slytherin” plan of Lucius’s from the start, and she was pretty sure she didn’t want herself, or worse, Draco, tied to it.

“And if we refuse?” she asked.

“Then we’ll ask you not to leave the country and return with a subpoena once the case proceeds,” Scrimgeour said.

 _Damn_. They had her completely outmanoeuvred. At the rate they were going, they were probably posed to send Lucius to Azkaban. At this point, probably the best thing she could do for him would be to cooperate—especially for Draco’s sake, although she wasn’t as worried about him. She had insisted that Lucius keep him out of this as much as possible.

“Well, then, I supposed I should do you a favour and save you the trouble,” she said humorlessly. “Draco,” she called. “Come here, please.”

 

#

 

“Did you know who the Heir of Slytherin was?” Amelia asked a very surly Draco Malfoy. The boy had protested being brought in by the Aurors, but he had been wise enough not to make a scene about it.

“No, I didn’t,” the boy said with unmasked annoyance.

“Did you know what was in the Chamber or how the victims were being petrified?”

“No.”

“Did you have any idea where the Chamber was?”

“No.”

“Do you recognise this book?” she asked, holding up the diary carefully out of his reach. “You would have seen it in its undamaged state.”

Draco eyed the diary in confusion. “No, I’ve never seen it before.”

“Hmm…Did either of your parents tell you anything about what was happening this past year?”

“No. Father said to keep my head down and let the Heir get on with it. And he wouldn’t tell me anything about what happened last time, either, if you’re wondering.”

“Then you knew he was in contact with the Heir?” she tried to lead him.

But Draco was smarter than that. He probably wasn’t going to lie (even if Amelia didn’t have probable cause to dose him with Veritaserum—yet), but he wasn’t likely to say anything directly incriminating about his father. “Father told me to keep my head down and let the Heir get on with it,” he repeated. “ _After_ the first message was written on the wall. I don’t know anything else for certain.”

“Did he ever let on that he knew something was going to happen this year,” she tried again.

“Of course he did,” Draco said, and Amelia’s spirits were momentarily lifted. But he continued, “Father always knows everything that happens at Hogwarts. He’s the Chairman of the Board of Governors, you know.”

“ _Was_ , you mean.”

Draco tried to object, but she didn’t press the point. She was busy, and it was clear that he knew absolutely nothing of value. She’d just have to try her luck with his mother.

 

#

 

Narcissa Malfoy was as perfectly poised as a woman of her station was expected to be. She acted pleasant and a little bit aloof, even in the interrogation room, and treated Amelia as if they were meeting for tea. She was visibly shaken by the news that her husband had been arrested right in the middle of the Ministry, but she suppressed her discomfort as she spoke. “Good afternoon, Madam Bones,” she said. “Would you mind telling me what all this is about?”

“I should have thought that would be obvious, Mrs. Malfoy,” Amelia said. “What else has the Ministry been doing while we’ve been all but shut down the past three days? We’re investigating how one of the deadliest beasts in the world got set loose in a school. I’m sure you understand. We both have children there, don’t we?”

Narcissa lost a little of her congenial tone as she replied, “Yes, I’d like to know why there was a basilisk loose in Hogwarts as well, Madam Bones, but I fail to understand why you think Lucius is involved.” Actually, that was a lie. She couldn’t deny that she had some inkling about Lucius’s involvment, even if she didn’t want to admit it to herself. “If this is about removing Dumbledore—”

“No, this has nothing to do with your husband’s actions as Chairman of the Hogwarts Board of Governors—although we’ll be looking into those as part of our investigation. We arrested him because we believe he was involved in the incident itself.”

Narcissa grew very stiff, and her nostrils flared: “And just how did you reach such a slanderous conclusion? You must know Lucius was nowhere near Hogwarts during the attacks.”

“I’m not saying he was. Do you recognise this book? It would have been undamaged when you saw it.” Amelia held up the diary for her to see.

 _Damn,_ Narcissa thought.

“We discovered that there was a dark curse on this book that caused it possess one of the students. It was she who released the basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets under its control.”

 _Buggering hell, they have the book!_ And _they know what it did!_ Narcissa could only half-listen to Bones’s explanation. Lucius’s plan was exposed, but that wasn’t even the chief concern in her mind.

“I’ve had eyewitnesses testify to me that your husband placed this book in that student’s cauldron before the school year started.”

 _And that means Lucius_ _’s plan really_ was _behind this whole basilisk mess!_

“So, naturally, we need to find out what, precisely, he knew and when he knew it.”

“So let me get this straight. You’re saying that Lucius was behind the plot to set a basilisk loose in the school where _our son_ was living?” Narcissa demanded icily.

“That’s where the evidence is pointing, Mrs. Malfoy, and I’m afraid it’s looking pretty solid.”

Narcissa took a deep breath, maintaining her calm exterior, but inside, she was in turmoil. With that one answer, years of denial and self-delusion came crumbling down. Bones wouldn’t come after Lucius unless she had really solid evidence. This was bad. She and Lucius had had disagreements about things like this in the past, but they had never been serious. What followed next, however, was anything but a snap decision. She had had concerns from the day she found out she was pregnant that having a husband who followed the Dark Lord might not be the best thing for her son. With the Dark Lord gone, she had dismissed them, but they always lay under the surface. Now, the most influential Death Eater who was left was going to Azkaban, and the calculus was changed. Worse, Lucius had endangered Draco, not just by unleashing a basilisk in Hogwarts, but also by losing a valuable item the Dark Lord had entrusted him with. Even if he didn’t know what he was doing, that was unconscionable. So Narcissa’s decision was really a well-considered one that she simply hadn’t realised she had made long ago.

“Back me up in a divorce case, and I’ll tell you everything I know,” she said.

Amelia was stunned. That was the last thing she expected to hear. But it wasn’t hard for her to reconstruct the woman’s line of thinking, both as an investigator and as a mother in all but name. Narcissa Malfoy was naturally furious that her son had been placed in such danger and more furious that her husband was behind it. Since she had been trying to cover for him, it meant that she knew in broad terms what he was planning, but that fact that she was so angry told Amelia that she hadn’t known the details and would never have approved if she had. So it seemed likely that she’d had reservations about it from the start.

And then there was the fact that her husband was going to Azkaban for at least five years and probably more. If he actually knew it was a basilisk he was setting loose (though it didn’t look like he did), he would get life. This would her hurt deeply economically, politically, and as a parent, not to mention as a wife. It wasn’t a stretch to believe she would want out of a marriage that he’d screwed up that badly.

Amelia grinned once she’d recovered from the shock. “Believe me, Mrs. Malfoy,” she said, “after the week I’ve been having, a divorce case will be a refreshing change.”

It was even better than Amelia had hoped. There was a muggle poet once who said something about a woman scorned. That was Narcissa Malfoy in spades. Dark artifacts hidden in the dungeon. (Of course, they had a dungeon.) Boasting about his plan to set the Heir of Slytherin’s loose. Dirty dealings with Fudge? Oh, yes, this _was_ big—and if it got the public to turn on Fudge…maybe it would help her own job security in this mess.

The one disappointment was that Lucius apparently didn’t know that there was a basilisk involved. He may be a despicable human being, but he wasn’t stupid. But still, she had plenty on him after all that. She sent Narcissa and Draco home once they were done talking, although she informed them she might want them back to testify, but Lucius wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon.

 

#

 

Narcissa returned home in a daze and sent Draco to his room, over his protests and questions. “We’ll discuss this _later_ , Draco,” she said. “I need to take stock and make plans at the moment. Be sure to be ready in time for dinner.”

Draco reluctantly went to his room, and she sank down on the sofa with tears in her eyes. How had everything gone so wrong? Yesterday, she was a wealthy, successful socialite. By tomorrow, she would be a disgraced pending divorcee. It was a place she never imagined she’d be, and she had no idea what to do about it.

She looked around at the manor. With Amelia helping her, she could probably get the manor in the divorce in exchange for a smaller share of the money. Well, technically, Draco would get the manor, since he was poised to inherit it anyway, but she wouldn’t have to worry about being kicked out of her own house. And worst case, she would still get enough money for her and Draco to live on until he finished school. But that didn’t help her out of the social death she surely was sinking into.

The clock chimed five, snapping her out of her thoughts. They’d been gone most of the afternoon, and the house wasn’t in order. They probably didn’t even have dinner ready. “Dobby,” she called.

Their bedraggled house elf popped into view in front of her. “Yes, Mistress?” he asked.

Narcissa thought perhaps she should rethink how Lucius treated Dobby as well. Did the creature have a discipline problem? Sure, but that didn’t justify him walking with a hunch and always dressing in a filthy pillowcase. She remembered dealing with the Hogwarts elves once or twice when she was in school. Now _those_ were house elves. They stood at attention when you spoke to them, they always worked efficiently, and they had proper uniforms made from monogrammed tea towels. They never looked like they’d just been kicked (probably because they never were kicked).

Well, she’d worry about that later. “Dobby, prepare dinner for two tonight,” she said. “The Master won’t be returning for…an extended period.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Once Dobby vanished, Narcissa took a deep breath and started to analyse her situation rationally. Lucius was going to Azkaban, and that case would be finished quickly. Hundreds of children had been placed in grave danger, Hogwarts was closed, and the Ministry was barely functional. People were baying for blood.

But for Narcissa, her struggle was just beginning. Her life as she knew it had just been destroyed, her husband’s political coalition discredited or worse, and with it, the pureblood ideals she had believed in her whole life. Her own name was being dragged through the mud even now. And she had a son who had grown up idolising his father whom she now had to steer away from making the same mistakes. And there was the matter of her cousin being back.

In short, she had to find a way to reposition herself to retain some degree of control. It wasn’t going to be with Lucius’s Death Eater friends—not if she wanted the name Malfoy (and Black, if it were possible) to mean what it used to mean. She’d have to find another way.

She thought about her potential allies, old and new. She thought about her family, such as it was. Her options were limited, and in the end, she had to concede that there was only one palatable way that would let her rebuild her life quickly: the middle road.

And Merlin, did that hurt. She was a daughter of the House of Black! She should never have to stoop to this—should never have to compromise her family’s beliefs: _Toujours Pur._ But look at them now. The only Blacks left who weren’t in Azkaban were herself and two blood traitors. Could she reach out to them without switching entirely to their politics? The Blacks had money and power, and they could be valuable allies, but Sirius and Andromeda were muggle-lovers of the highest order. No, probably better to make her new political position clear first so everyone knew where each other stood.

Yes, she’d have to do it sooner or later. They were family, after all. And she had Draco to think of.

Draco was another problem. He was a natural Slytherin—the Sorting Hat had confirmed that by Sorting him in record time—but he didn’t show it. He lacked subtlety, even for his age. He was arrogant, brash, and combative—embarrassingly Gryffindor traits. He had cunning, but he preferred to ride on his family name rather than use it, and he didn’t even care to forge a more respectable public image for himself.

It wouldn’t have served him well to start with, and with these new developments, he definitely needed to clean up his act.

She decided to give it to him straight. He was a Malfoy, after all. He could pick himself up after a terrible setback and rebuild, just like his family had done for nine hundred years. So when he asked what was happening with his father at dinner, she just told him, “Your father is going to Azkaban, Draco.”

Draco immediately dropped his fork. Not a great start. “What? W-w- _why_?” he demanded.

“Because your father was the one behind this whole Chamber of Secrets fiasco,” she said. “He used a dark artifact to induce Ginevra Weasley to open the Chamber and release the basilisk. Do you think the Ministry will let him go after doing something like that? After everything that’s been happening?”

“But…but…but Father didn’t know it was a basilisk, did he?”

“No, but he did attack an innocent girl with dark magic.”

“Yeah, a blood traitor—”

“Other people won’t see it that way,” she snapped. “How many times have we told you that image is important, Draco?” Narcissa took a deep breath and continued. “Your father attacked the girl with dark magic. The Wizengamot can convict him on that, reckless endangerment, and maybe attempted murder. In the process, he caused a weapon of mass destruction to be released and endangered everyone in the school—not just muggle-borns. He’ll be going a way for at least five years, and possibly as long as twenty.

“Twenty?! They can’t! They can’t convict Father,” Draco insisted. “He has Fudge in his pocket.”

“He doesn’t have Amelia Bones in his pocket. And Fudge is running scared trying to save face after having this happen on his watch.”

“But Fudge didn’t even have anything to do with it!”

“Fudge arrested Hagrid without cause. And he was involved in the incarceration of Sirius Black twelve years ago—I’m sure you’ve heard of that. The people won’t ignore that. Not to mention some of your father’s under-the-table dealings with Fudge have been exposed.” Never mind that she had been the one to expose them.

Draco was turning paler than usual as she dismantled his misconceptions. But of course, the biggest one was still to come. “But there must be something you can do,” he said. “We’re Malfoys! We have money. We have votes. You have to be able to get him out of there.”

“On the contrary,” she said, “I’m helping put him there.”

“WHAT?!” Draco shot out of his seat so fast that his chair tipped over. “ARE YOU MAD?!”

“I most certainly am not.”

“HOW COULD YOU?! THIS IS INSANE! HE’S YOUR HUSBAND!” He stomped over and shouted almost right in her face. “WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?!”

 _“Sit. Down. Draco,”_ she said, not rising from her seat.

“HOW COULD YOU SELL FATHER OUT LIKE THAT?! FOR MERLIN’S SAKE HE WAS DOING HIS DUTY TO THE PUREBLOOD RACE!”

 _“Listen when your mother is talking, Draco!”_ she snapped, and suddenly, Draco saw his mother for the first time not just as Narcissa Malfoy, who always went along with her husband, but as Narcissa Black, who was as formidable as any witch in the country. “I said _sit_.”

He did.

“Do you have _any_ idea of the position your father has put us in?” she said sternly. “He endangered your life and the lives of everyone in Hogwarts. He discredited the Malfoy name in a way we might never recover from. We _can_ _’t_ be sure of our votes in the Wizengamot right now. No one will want to be associated with us. Not when he endangered Charles Nott’s son and Josefina Zabini’s son and Adrian Greengrass’s daughters, not to mention Madam Bones’s niece. The entire Ministry is on high alert thanks to his stunt, and Fudge can’t stop that. Bribes won’t work on Madam Bones, and she’ll be sniffing them out beyond her department. And after all that, all your father really accomplished was to endangered you and me far more than anyone else.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“That dark artifact your father used on Ginevra Weasley,” Narcissa said. “It was given to him by the Dark Lord himself with explicit instructions to keep it safe and hidden and only to use it at the Dark Lord’s command. If I’d known how sensitive it was, I never would have allowed it. You know the Dark Lord is still out there, Draco. That he could return one day to find this prized artifact of his destroyed. Do you remember the stories your Father would tell of what the Dark Lord would do to traitors? Do you understand how large a target your father has painted on your back _and_ mine?”

This last suggestion made Draco turn ghostly white.

“Lucius has proved himself quite spectacularly to be an unworthy husband and father. So I did what any good mother would do. I severed all ties with him, Draco. For _your_ sake.”

Draco was too frightened by now to contest her. All her could say was, “But what do we do now?”

“Neither of us has the Dark Mark, Draco,” she continued. “We don’t have to tie ourselves to him politically or lie to avoid exposing ourselves. We can escape if we distance ourselves from your father and forge our own political path.”

“Do you hear yourself, Mother?” Draco said, his voice filled with a pained mix of anger, fear, and confusion. “You’re a Black! Where else can we go that will uphold the proper standards of blood purity?”

“You know better than that, Draco. Think. Without the House of Malfoy, who is the leading traditionalist force on the Wizengamot?”

“The House of Greengrass, I suppose,” he said after a moment’s thought.

“Precisely. The Greengrasses are a Slytherin-dominated family, Sacred Twenty-Eight purebloods, and defenders of traditional wizarding culture. True, they don’t entangle themselves in blood politics, but as we now find ourselves on the losing side of that issue, that could be considered an advantage. I intend to publicly disavow your father’s actions—which is near enough to the truth—and begin repositioning us as allies of the House of Greengrass.”

Draco nodded reluctantly. He could begin to see the logic behind his mother’s actions. “And…the Dark Lord?”

“With him, it would hardly be better for us if we stood by your father or one of his allies. We won’t be marking ourselves as blood traitors by allying ourselves with the House of Greengrass, and the longer we’re established in that position, the safer we’ll be. And…” she said more to herself than to him, “Andromeda and Sirius might be willing to talk to us again.”

“Andromeda and Sirius? You _can_ _’t_ be thinking of joining _them_!” Draco said in horror. “They _are_ blood traitors!”

“They are family, Draco, and I expect you to treat them with respect,” Narcissa warned. “I certainly don’t intend to join their politics, and I will tell them so. Nonetheless, I do intend to get on Sirius Black’s good side as much as I can from our new position. I’ve already lost my status as Heiress Presumptive to the House of Black. Sirius reinstated Andromeda this morning—and I’m sure he’ll be taking care of his childlessness problem soon enough anyway. We need to keep _some_ contact with him…and, truth be told, I would like to get _one_ of my sisters back.”

Draco grew subdued. He’d never really heard her talk about her family before beyond political matters. “My apologies, Mother,” he said.

She nodded at him. This seemed like a good time to address her son’s other issues. “Speaking of respect, I wanted to talk to you about your behaviour at school,” she continued. “Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall informed me that you were using slurs against fellow students, making threats—”

“They were only mudbloods, Mother.”

“That’s exactly what I mean. Your father may have tolerated the use of that word in public, but I will not.”

“What do you mean? I’m only calling them what they are.”

“Not everyone thinks as we do, Draco. In fact, the majority of the people don’t. Do you realise that upwards of eighty percent of witches and wizards in Britain have a muggle-born grandparent or great-grandparent whom they remember fondly from their childhood? It’s unwise to insult people’s families like that—at least not when you don’t have the political power to back it up.”

“What’s come over you, Mother? You never had problems with all that before.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, young man. I’ve been too lax with such things while I was with your father, and it’s past time both of us cleaned up our acts. We are not at war, in case you haven’t noticed. We have a political agenda—one that has just suffered a great setback. We won’t win any allies by using foul language that deeply offends a large portion of the population. A proper Slytherin knows to be subtler than that.

“And returning to the matter at hand, Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall also told me you were trying to give people the impression that _you_ were the Heir of Slytherin—need I remind you, a person who was attacking students and would have been sent to Azkaban for it had he been caught—and that you were in possession of several contraband items that you were definitely not supposed to have, even by your father’s standards. You’re attitude so far hasn’t impressed me.”

“I could’ve easily proved I didn’t do it if anyone actually questioned me, Mother—”

“It still wasn’t a good idea,” Narcissa insisted. “Do you know how it would have looked for you to even be questioned?” She stopped and sighed. “I’ve seen you at your best, Draco,” she continued more quietly. “You have it in you to be a great Slytherin, but you don’t apply yourself to it. Now that there are only two of us, I need you to rise to be better for the sake of the family.”

Draco’s eyes widened as the full weight of the matter finally hit him. Bloody hell, he was the man of the house now, wasn’t he? He really had no idea how to do that. It wasn’t something he was expecting to have to worry about for years. He wasn’t even thirteen until Saturday for Merlin’s sake! He tried to think over what needed to be done, and he began to realise just how much he needed his mother’s advice.

Very well, then. If it was just the two of them against the world, now, he would do what he had to for the sake of his family. “I understand, Mother,” he said. “I apologise for my reckless actions, and I will be more careful about how I comport myself in the future.”

“Thank you, Draco,” she said. “I know we’ll get through this together. We will begin our work in the morning.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Would any responsible adult place an at-risk child with a foster family without a follow-up visit? No? Then I am not JK Rowling and do not own Harry Potter.
> 
> Credit to raw666 for the Unspeakables finding the Mirror of Erised in the Room of Requirement.
> 
> Credit to magitech and Sebazu for the other governors joining the case against Lucius.
> 
> Kudos to Nanchih and “w- easy enough” for catching the significance of the name Odo Proudfoot.
> 
> Just one chapter to go. No, this won’t be a long story—more like a “see how quickly everything gets solved if they have an excuse to dig up all the secrets’ story.

The wizard stared in awe at an ornate mirror. It looked centuries old, like most of the junk in this room, but this was fancier than most of it and gave off an aura of powerful magic.

“Bode, you found something?” a voice called.

“Oh God! I can see forever!” he said in awe.

“Bode?”

“Croaker, you have to see this! I can see it! I understand everything!”

“Bode, what in Merlin’s name are you talking about?” Croaker rushed over to his fellow Unspeakable.

“Come look! Everything we ever wanted is right here in the mirror.”

“What?” What the hell kind of mirror was Bode looking at, Croaker wondered. He stepped into view of it slowly, not going far enough to see his own reflection, and examined the frame. _“Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi,”_ he muttered. “I show not your face, but your heart’s desire. Merlin, it’s the Mirror of Erised!” What was _this_ doing here? He’d heard rumours about it, but it was supposed to be in Flamel’s private collection…but then, Flamel had died a few months ago. Had he left it to Dumbledore—? Never mind. “Bode, come away from there! It’s not real!”

“Croaker, I can see it! All the secrets of magic are right there!”

“I side come away from there!” Croaker grabbed his friend’s arm and pulled him out of view of the reflection. Suddenly, Bode raised his fist to strike, but he hesitated when he saw Croaker’s face.

“Oh, God, I just got whammied, didn’t I?” he said.

“Yeah. You’re lucky I was here.” Croaker conjured a sheet to cover the Mirror and wrote a label detailing what it was and instructing it to be sent back to the Department of Mysteries. He also made a note on his parchment pad in case Dumbledore wanted it back later. “One of Flamel’s toys,” he said. “I swear, we’re gonna be mopping up after him for the next decade, and that was _before_ we found this place.”

“Yikes. This is gonna be a long day, isn’t it.”

“Definitely.” He called out to the rest of his team, “Look alive, people! We’ve got Flamel-level artifacts in here, and we’re just getting started. Don’t trust anything you see. It wouldn’t surprise me if we managed to find Ravenclaw’s Lost Diadem in here, and even I don’t know what that thing does.” He looked around for a minute. “And does anyone know a good way to get those pixies out of the rafters? It makes me nervous enough when everything in a place like this is non-living.”

 

#

 

“Croaker’s talking about at least a week just to sort everything in that room,” Amelia told Albus. “And that’s just to move everything out of there and into a few categorised storage spaces. He says three weeks if we want to avoid taking dangerous shortcuts, and he wouldn’t even give me an estimate for how long it’ll take to catalogue everything.”

“Tell him there is no hurry as long as the school can reopen in the autumn,” Albus replied. “I spoke to the Hogwarts elves. It seems they _did_ know of the room and used it for storage regularly. It can take different forms depending on the needs of the user. I will place them at Mr. Croaker’s disposal if he wants them.”

“He might. Moody reports the search of the school is proceeding on schedule. That acromantula colony in the Forest worries me, but other than that, they haven’t found anything significant. If that really was the only basilisk, we shouldn’t have to waste more than a few more days on it.”

“That is good to hear.”

“Harry told me about Quirrell,” she said, and with her keen eye, she saw Dumbledore’s face twitch. “Under the circumstances, though, I’ll provisionally forget to record the fishy-sounding bits of his story and accept that you didn’t realise you _actually_ had You-Know-Who in the school. After all, he’s officially dead, and Quirrell couldn’t possibly have been possessed by a dead man—so if we make sure he _stays_ that dead, I’m willing to call it no harm, no foul.”

Dumbledore was clearly aware that he’d been caught on his back foot. “I…I appreciate your generosity, Amelia,” he managed.

“Good. Now, let’s talk horcruxes.” She thumbed through the report he had given her. It was surprisingly thick given the amount of time he’d had available, and he must have had large parts of it prepared in advance. “If there’s one thing I can tell you I’m genuinely grateful for, it’s that you were so thorough. You’ve got You-Know-Who’s family history, his birth, the orphanage he was raised in, his habits, his friends and enemies in school, objects of importance to him, a record of his murders—This information must have been collected over decades. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were harbouring an obsession, Albus.”

He smiled weakly at her. “Know thy enemy, Amelia. I believe this information gives us crucial clues to finding Voldemort’s horcruxes.”

“And I hope you’re right,” Amelia said. “Right now, all you’ve got is a ring, a locket, and a cup, each more speculative than the last. You don’t even know _if_ there are any others, let alone what they are. Incidentally, how long have you known about these three?”

“As you said, the memories I collected over many years, but I did not know which parts were significant until I reviewed them last night. I am aware that my record is woefully incomplete, but I believe that if we investigate the orphanage where Tom Riddle grew up, as well as his mother’s home, we may find more clues.”

“Fair enough. I’ll add them to our to-do list. In the meantime, I’ll circulate this list of items to the Aurors and Unspeakables as cursed objects we suspect the Heir of Slytherin may have left behind. Anything else on this front?”

Albus grew solemn and sighed heavily. “Since we are operating under strictest secrecy, did you speak to the Healer who treated Harry at St. Mungo’s?”

Amelia looked down and shuffled some papers around her desk. “I think I have a report from him somewhere. I was going to use it for the case against Harry’s relatives. Why?”

“Molly Weasley reported to me that the Healer found a latent concentration of dark magic in Harry’s scar—dark magic that was likely as old as the scar itself. It doesn’t appear to be hurting him, but…I have a theory, Amelia, which is little more than a guess at present, and which I am unsure as yet how to test. But here is what I know. When Voldemort tried to kill Harry that night, he used the Killing Curse. The magical residue confirmed that at the time. The Killing Curse was reflected by an extremely obscure Protection of Love ward—reflected back at Voldemort, whose soul was already damaged beyond all knowledge from creating multiple horcruxes. I believe it is possible that when he was struck, a piece of his soul broke off and, in the absence of a prepared horcrux vessel, latched onto the only living thing left in that room.”

Albus stopped talking, but Amelia didn’t register it for several seconds. She became aware that she had dropped her papers and tidied them again. “Good Lord,” she whispered. “You think Harry could be a horcrux?”

“As I said, it is an uncertain theory—”

“But if there’s even a small chance, we have to investigate it,” she finished. “Your evidence?”

“Harry can speak Parseltongue, an ability he likely got from Voldmort. He suffers headaches in Voldemort’s presence—beyond the level of ordinary Legilimency. He remembers the night his parents were murdered—”

“He does?!”

“He claims he remembers only green light, but the fact that he remembers anything at all of that night is unheard of for a child of fifteen months. It could very well be connected.”

“Any evidence against?”

“The fact that his friends have not been corrupted as Ginny Weasley was. Even if Harry himself is protected, the horcrux should have had a dark influence on the minds of those close to him.”

“His relatives?” she asked, suddenly wondering if those cretins’ actions were truly their own.

“It is possible they were influenced by the horcrux, but since Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger have not been, I deem it unlikely.”

Amelia grumbled darkly and made some notes in her secret, personal files. “I don’t like it Albus. This could complicate things in so many ways…Alright, suppose the boy _is_ a horcrux. Do you know any way to…to…”

“Remove it safely? I’m afraid not. I consulted all of my books on the subject, and all of the known ways to destroy a horcrux would kill Harry before they killed the soul fragment, except possibly, as an extreme last resort, the Dementor’s Kiss.”

Amelia had to play back his last words in her head to make sure she hadn’t misheard. The Dementor’s Kiss? On the Boy-Who-Lived? To her credit she didn’t explode at Albus, but thought it through first. Obviously, he meant for the dementor to suck the horcrux out while leaving Harry’s soul intact, but who was to say that was even possible? “You’re right about that, Albus,” she said. “Extreme last resort—like if You-Know-Who is back in the flesh and coming to kill us all. Do you think the Unspeakables could find an alternate solution?”

“Anything is possible, Amelia. But first, I would suggest having Mr. Croaker see if he can confirm my theory.”

“You’re going to be the death of me, Albus. Alright, I’ll add it to the list. Please tell me that’s all.”

“For now, it should be. Alas, I have delayed the Board of Governors as long as I can, and I must now face them…Incidentally, I believe several of them may be willing to testify in your case against Lucius Malfoy. They claimed privately that he had threatened their families when they reinstated me.”

 

#

 

“Naturally, when Harry informed me that the monster was a basilisk, I took immediate, drastic steps to protect the students and handed the situation over to the DMLE in accordance with Ministry and international law. I believe you know the rest,” Dumbledore finished his story to the Board.

“Yes, I believe that response was appropriate,” the interim chair of the Board said.

“And Malfoy will trouble us no more?” another member asked nervously.

“He was arrested yesterday,” Dumbledore said. “Even if he could still wield influence here after being dismissed, he cannot physically reach us. Your cooperation with the DMLE in his trial would be invaluable to ensure he cannot trouble you again in the future.”

“Fair enough. The real question is, how did _you_ go through the entire year without realising what the monster was?”

“Or the Chamber?”

“The Chamber could only be opened by a Parselmouth and had evaded detection for a thousand years,” Dumbledore insisted. “As for the basilisk. I admit to error on that point. I had considered the possibility, but I dismissed it almost immediately. You see, the basilisk in the Chamber was roughly one thousand years old. No basilisk has ever been recorded living that long. Therefore, either someone else bred a basilisk in the Chamber for the 1943 attacks—I considered this to be vanishingly unlikely, for it requires a ritual that could not have been found in the Hogwarts library even before I removed the darkest books—or Salazar Slytherin anticipated it might take that long for his heirs to work his will and took appropriate precautions to keep the beast alive. I also considered this to be unlikely. After all, why should he have thought it would take anywhere near that long? Unfortunately I was wrong.”

“And the Heir?” the interim chair said.

“I of course considered Voldemort—” The Board flinched. “—but I had solid intelligence that he was out of the country. I searched for an agent acting in his stead, but the artifact that possessed Miss Weasley was clever and did not manifest any signs in my viewing, and since it managed to fool her own brothers, it is unsurprising—though unfortunate—that we missed her.”

The Board all nodded solemnly and debated amongst themselves for a long while. Eventually, they decided to accept Dumbledore’s explanation and concluded that he had performed due diligence in his running of the school over the past year.

“That only leaves the matter of Miss Weasley’s punishment,” the interim chair said.

Dumbledore’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Surely, we cannot punish a young girl for what she did while she was possessed,” he said, aghast. “She has already been through enough.”

“She failed to report a basilisk in the castle, Albus!” another member said. “That’s a serious offence.”

“But she did not _know_ that the monster was a basilisk,” he responded. “Indeed, she did not know anything for certain—no more than the rest of the students. She was under no legal obligation to report it, and failure to report such a potential danger is also not an expellable offence for students not in a leadership position.”

“Well…perhaps not, but her actions nearly caused the closure of the school—”

“They _did_ cause the closure of the school.”

“—yes, and nearly ruined it forever. We can’t let that go unanswered.”

“I strongly advise you not to pursue expulsion,” Dumbledore said, and he smiled a little. “If you do, I fear the next action of Harry Potter would be to retain a solicitor and file a lawsuit to overturn the action on her behalf.”

The Board was silent for a minute. “That is…oddly specific, Headmaster,” the chair said. “Why would you anticipate such a thing?”

“Between Mr. Potter’s friendship with Hermione Granger and his devotion to the Weasley family, I think the logic is quite straightforward,” he said. _And if it takes a little extra nudge from me, so be it_ , he added mentally.

“I see…expulsion _is_ a little excessive. Still, there ought to be some response.”

Dumbledore smiled a bit more, “If it makes you feel better, I can suspend Miss Weasley for the remainder of the term.”

“The term’s already over, you dingbat!”

“And punishments cannot carry over to the next term,” he replied. “How convenient.”

“I propose we backdate the suspension to the twenty-ninth of May, when Miss Weasley entered the Chamber,” another suggested. “With such a serious lapse in judgement, I’m not comfortable leaving it unremarked on her record.”

Dumbledore was not pleased by that. He continued to argue in Ginny’s favour, but he was unable to dissuade the Board from their punishment. It wouldn’t really make any practical difference, but he didn’t like adding an extra hurt such as this to that family.

 

#

 

Dumbledore decided to break the news to the Weasleys in person mainly because he needed to speak to Harry about getting tested by Croaker. Of course, Croaker was very busy and likely would be for some time, but he thought it would be best to ease the boy into it before dropping the final bombshell on him.

“Oh man, I’m really sorry, Ginny. I didn’t want you to get in trouble,” Harry said when he found out.

“It’s okay, Harry,” Ginny said sullenly.

“But it wasn’t your fault,” he insisted. “I never wanted to cause any trouble. I thought everything would be taken care of when I killed the basilisk. I didn’t know it would cause so much trouble when I told about it.”

“We certainly don’t blame you,” Mrs. Weasley assured him. “And you had to tell us about the basilisk. All of this is Old Slytherin’s fault for hiding such a dangerous beast in the castle.”

“Still, it’s not fair. I know how it felt when everyone thought I was the Heir. It was awful. I don’t like them blaming Ginny.”

Dumbledore cleared his throat: “That’s very noble of you, Harry. But I’m sure the suspension will not reflect poorly on Ginny, especially with you vouching for her. But I also wanted to speak to you directly. You see, Mrs. Weasley mentioned to me that the Healer found an unusual concentration of dark magic infusing your scar.”

Harry looked at Mrs. Weasley questioningly. “I thought it was important, and that the Headmaster should know in case it troubled you later,” she said. “There’s no one better at arcane magic than Professor Dumbledore, after all…I hope you don’t mind.”

The boy shrugged and said, “It’s okay.”

Dumbledore smiled at her: “I appreciate your loyalty, Molly, but Madam Bones recently reminded me that there _is_ someone better than I: Algernon Croaker, the Head Unspeakable. Harry, if you don’t mind, I believe he should examine your scar to better ascertain the nature of this dark magic and determine if any action needs to be taken.”

“It’s from Voldemort isn’t it?” he asked. “The Healer said it probably came with my scar.”

The boy caught on quickly, didn’t he? “Yes, Harry,” he replied. “I believe that when Voldemort attempted to kill you that night, some of…his magic remained attached to you. This is very likely why you can speak Parseltongue, as well.”

“Can you get rid of it? I don’t want any part of _him_ in me. I’ve seen what it can do.”

“That is what I very much hope to be able to do,” he said, and it was the truest thing he _could_ say. “Now, Mr. Croaker is currently very busy searching the Lost and Found at Hogwarts, so you shan’t need to worry about this for a few weeks, but please be prepared for when I call you for him to examine you.”

 

#

 

Amelia was definitely surprised when Algernon Croaker burst into her office on Saturday. The search of the rest of the castle was winding down, although it would probably take another week to scan the whole building for expanded spaces and be prepared to reopen the Chamber of Secrets. But she wasn’t expecting to hear back from Croaker’s team for a good deal longer than that.

“Mr. Croaker, what—”

“Madam Bones, you’re going to want to see this,” he said.

“Croaker, please tell me you didn’t find a basilisk in the Lost and Found,” she said.

“No, worse…We found a horcrux.”

 

#

 

“Not for a few weeks, huh?” Harry said as Dumbledore escorted him and Sirius down the eerie stone corridor to the Department of Mysteries. Sirius had been given a temporary release from St. Mungo’s since this matter was urgent and greatly concerned his godson.

“We made an unexpected and fortuitous find,” the old wizard explained. “While searching the Lost and Found, Mr. Croaker found another artifact that had been cursed by Voldemort—similar to the diary. With this direct comparison to Voldemort’s magic, he can analyse your scar much more easily.” A half-truth, but enough until they knew for certain. “And because this artifact was so dangerous, we did not wish to wait to deal with it.”

“Like the diary?” Harry said. “There wasn’t a horrible monster with _this_ one, was there?”

“Fortunately not. There was very little living in the Room that worried us.” He led the two of them into a dizzily spinning room and then called out the word, “Soul.” The room slowed, and one of the doors opened, revealing a room full of ritual circles, arcane artifacts, and three people sitting around a stone table.

“That’s all the security you have here?” Sirius wondered.

“I assure you, Mr. Black, we have far subtler methods than you can dream of,” said a grey-haired man in a black robe.

Harry looked around the room. He recognised Madam Bones, and he’d seen the man with the false eye earlier this week, though he didn’t remember his name, but the man in the black robe was unfamiliar to him. Fortunately, Dumbledore introduced them at once. “Harry, Sirius, you already know Madam Bones, but allow me to introduce you to Auror Alastor Moody and the Head of the Department of Mysteries, Algernon Croaker. And if you are wondering about this meeting, yes it is more than a simple examination for Harry. You see, the four of us have formed an undercover team to prevent Voldemort from returning yet again.”

Oh, _that_ was different. Harry and Sirius both had to wonder what they were doing here, then. “But you still want to scan Harry, though?” Sirius asked.

“That’s right,” Croaker said. “This should only take a minute, Mr. Potter. Please sit down in the middle of that circle.” He pointed to one of the smaller runic circles on the floor. Harry sat nervously, and Croaker rose from the table and walked around him thrice whilst chanting and waving his wand. Nothing much seemed to happen, until—

“Ouch!” Harry clapped a hand to his forehead where his scar suddenly felt searing hot.

Croaker immediately looked grim. “Well, you were right, Albus,” he said to Dumbledore who looked equally grim.

“What’s going on?” Sirius asked.

“Sirius, Harry, please sit. I’m afraid we have bad news,” Dumbledore said. They sat and looked expectantly. “Harry, I confess I wasn’t entirely forthcoming the last time we spoke. I wanted to wait until I had confirmation, and unfortunately, Mr. Croaker has confirmed my theory. The dark magic bound to your scar is not merely a strange magical nexus…it is, in fact, a piece of Voldemort’s soul.”

Sirius made a hissing noise that sounded oddly more like a cat than a dog. Harry felt vaguely ill, but the only thing he could think of to say was, “You can have pieces of souls?”

“Bugger, he didn’t,” Sirius muttered.

“He didn’t what?” Harry asked.

Sirius quickly downed his extra, emergency dose of Calming Draught and took a deep breath. “It’s called a horcrux, Harry. My parents warned me about them, but I never thought I’d actually…It’s a piece of someone’s soul torn off by a ritual murder and stored in an…object. As long as the horcrux exists, Voldemort can’t die.”

Harry’s eyes widened, and he ran his fingers over his scar nervously. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

“How…how could this happen?” Sirius demanded. “Voldemort can’t have meant to…”

“I don’t believe he did,” Dumbledore said.

“I’m sure he didn’t,” Croaker confirmed. “Mr. Black, the good news is that Harry isn’t a true horcrux. There’s a very complicated and dark preparatory ritual that you’re probably better off not knowing. The point is, it wasn’t used on your godson…The bad news is that there’s more than one horcrux.”

“There is?”

“This sort of thing doesn’t happen by accident, Black,” Moody growled. “The bastard made a bunch of them. At least the lad’s already destroyed one.”

Sirius looked to Harry in surprise. Harry saw the eyes on him and thought back to the only thing that made sense. “The diary?”

“Aye. You did us a favour there,” Moody said.

“Wow, but…but you can get this one out of my scar, right?” he said. “Preferably in a way that doesn’t involve a giant snake?”

Moody and Sirius both chuckled darkly, but the rest of the table remained solemn. Croaker seemed to stare at Harry’s scar as he said, “We don’t have a safe way to get it out right now, Mr. Potter, but that’s why we’re here. We were lucky enough to find another of You-Know-Who’s horcruxes at Hogwarts. I know, I’m as surprised as you are. But now that we have one in hand, I can study it to try to figure out a way to remove the soul piece from you safely.”

“Oh…that’s good, I guess,” Harry said, but he sounded disappointed.

“That does raise another question, though,” Sirius spoke up. “I assume there are other horcruxes out there. Can we destroy _them_ without a giant snake? I seem to remember it’s supposed to be really hard.”

“Actually, that is the easy part, Sirius,” Dumbledore said. “The Sword of Gryffindor is made of goblin silver. This makes it unique in that it can absorb basilisk venom without being harmed itself, and with it, we can destroy horcruxes.”

“It’s easier than that, Albus,” Croaker countered. “We can just run across the hall and throw them through the Veil of Death and not bother with the sword.”

Harry was pretty lost by now. The Ministry of Magic had something called the Veil of Death? Like…an actual veil to actual death? And he thought magic was weird before. Well, it probably wasn’t any weirder than soul pieces, but still. Maybe he should be paying more attention to Hermione. It sounded like he still had a lot to learn.

“Ahem,” Moody grunted. “I think we’re missing the obvious danger, here. You-Know-Who is still out there, and if he’s any kind of smart, he’ll know we’ve destroyed the diary and confiscated the diadem. Should we really keep the thing intact here, knowing he’ll try to get it?”

“It’s a priceless artifact, Auror Moody,” Croaker gasped. “And tainted or not. And I needed it to find a way to help Mr. Potter.”

“That won’t help us if You-Know-Who comes back.”

“That’s enough, Alastor,” Madam Bones cut him off. “But he _does_ raise a good point, Mr. Croaker. How can we make sure the diadem stays safe—and doesn’t possess anybody?”

“I had a few thoughts to that, Madam Bones,” Croaker said confidently. “First, we need to put it under “round-the-clock guard, and we won’t let anyone handle it unsupervised. But for a longer-term solution, after we harvest the basilisk corpse from the Chamber of Secrets, we can set up a dead man’s switch where if something goes wrong, or if an unauthorised person tries to access the diadem, it’ll be doused with basilisk venom and destroyed. And worst comes to worst, we can always throw the thing through the Veil of Death like the others.”

“Fair enough. Mr. Black, Mr. Potter, I want you to know we’re bringing you into this little group out of necessity. This operation is off the books. Fudge doesn’t know, and, more importantly, he doesn’t _want_ to know. Ideally, we’ll want to destroy all the horcruxes and then quietly release a report by the Headmaster and Mr. Croaker saying that You-Know-Who definitely can’t come back anyone, and no one will be the wiser. If we play this right, we’ll be able to stop a second war before it even starts.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sirius agreed. “What do you need us to do?”

“For now, just focus on recovering your strength. And don’t tell _anyone_. In a couple weeks, we’ll want Harry to reopen the Chamber of Secrets, and we might call on you to help us search for horcruxes. And there might be a few other small favours. There’s still a lot to be done, after all. I was hoping Albus would bring you up to speed?”

Dumbledore then proceeded to tell them all he knew about Voldemort’s horcruxes, and a grim sense of determination settled on Harry and Sirius. This wasn’t going to be easy. They had only partial clues to what the horcruxes were and where they were, but they were going to make sure he was gone for good this time. As for what to do next, Dumbledore thought interviewing Voldemort’s old schoolteachers might yield some clues.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Could someone who was first in his class at his high school and had connections with the rich and powerful in the area maintain his anonymity as a terrorist ringleader in his own small hometown? Honestly, I have no idea, but JK Rowling thinks so, and it’s her story.
> 
> Thank you all for reading this story. The response was greater than I’d ever imagined. But sadly, this is the end. Yes, I know I didn’t defeat Voldemort, but like Sirius says, things are looking up, and they’ll get there sooner or later. I’ve already resolved the rest of the main points, and Harry can have a normal life, now. I think that’s a pretty good ending in itself.

“Have I done something wrong, Amelia?” the fat wizard said ingratiatingly.

“Not at all, Professor Slughorn,” Amelia replied. “This isn’t about any of your activities. I called you in because we believe you may have important information about the illegal activities of one of your former students.”

Horace Slughorn paled a little. “I’ve had a lot of students over the years,” he said. “They’ve done a lot of important things, good _and_ bad. I don’t have any control over what they do when they leave school.”

He was getting defensive fast. That wasn’t a good sign. “I’m not suggesting you overlooked any illegal activities, Professor,” she said, “although I _am_ wondering if you might have looked the other way regarding some… _suspicious_ activities of one particular student while he was still in school.”

Slughorn had a bad feeling about where this was going. He absently pulled on his collar and asked, “Er…which student would that be?”

“One of your Slytherins by the name of Tom Riddle.”

“I…I’m afraid I don’t remember a Tom Riddle. Very common name, you see. And I’m sure he never amounted to much, or I’d have heard of him since.”

“Not if he was using a _nom de guerre_ , Professor. Surely, you remember him. He was Head Boy, Class of 1945.”

“Nope, can’t say that I do.”

Amelia sighed. “Albus warned me you’d do this,” she muttered.

He voice jumped a few pitches: “You—you’ve talked to Albus.”

“Of course. He’s the one who suggested I speak to you. Now, we both know that the Tom Riddle I’m talking about is You-Know-Who, so maybe you could drop the act?”

Slughorn paled further and nibbled his fingernails. After hemming and hawing for a minute, he said, “Amelia, I swear I had no idea what that boy would become.”

She raised an eyebrow. “No idea at all?”

“Well, I…I did think he had an unhealthy fixation on dark magic, but that wasn’t so uncommon in Slytherin, especially for a student as bright as he was. Did I look the other way, let the occasional indiscretion slide here and there? I’m sorry to say he wasn’t the only one. And he seemed like he’d go so far—that he had so much potential—I didn’t want to believe ill of him.”

“I see. And did you encourage him in his research at all? His studies into dark magic?”

 _Bugger me, she knows,_ Slughorn thought. “T-t-tips here and there,” he stammered. “I may have pointed him to a reference book or two—on a purely theoretical basis, of course. I _was_ quite free with passes to the Restricted Section, but that’s common enough. Plenty of students read into dark magic without becoming dark lords, right?”

And there she had him, Amelia thought. “Not certain kinds of dark magic, Professor Slughorn,” she said. “Not certain books that Dumbledore removed from the library after Riddle graduated—”

“Why does all this matter?” he snapped.

“Because You-Know-Who is still out there. If you’ve guessed half of what Dumbledore has, you _know_ that to be true. We want to stop him—for good this time. Dumbledore and I and a few others are trying to stop his return before he has a chance to make a move and make sure he can never come back again. But to do that, we need information. Dumbledore’s guessed a lot, but it’s not enough. We need to know anything you know about Tom Riddle’s research into horcruxes.”

Slughorn was silent for a long time. He was definitely nervous. After a while, he said, “You can’t _make_ me tell you—not without a subpoena to court, at least.” _And to make this a court matter would draw the Minister_ _’s ire,_ he added mentally.

“No, but I can leak all the dirt I have on you to Rita Skeeter,” Amelia said.

His face flashed white, shifted to green, and then back to a very pale and angry countenance. “You drive a hard bargain, Amelia,” he said. “It was his sixth year. I never suspected—I thought he was a charming young man, maybe troubled, but not dangerous—likely to go on to do great things. Oh, I’d heard the rumours—vicious ones. No one had heard from him over the summer, and there were whispers of dark deeds and rituals performed, but I didn’t believe them. Tom Riddle would never do anything that. And yes, I knew that nickname his friends called him, but I thought it was a joke—a passing teenage fancy. Plenty of children imagine mad dreams of world domination and never carry them out. And the fact that he used an anagram of his name—you may find this hard to believe, but I found it funny at the time. “Who does that?” I thought.

“Then, one night, after a Slug Club meeting, Riddle came up to me and asked me about horcruxes. I _was_ circumspect in my answer, please understand. I didn’t tell him anything he couldn’t have got from the books he must have been reading.”

“Just a moment,” Amelia interrupted. “His sixth year? This was the autumn of 1943?”

“Why, yes, I supposed it was.”

“According to Dumbledore’s notes, he…Riddle had already made at least one horcrux at that point.”

“He had? Why, I never would have guessed. He…he seemed to have had a scare when then the school nearly closed, but he didn’t behave that differently around me.”

“It seems he was a fine actor. Did he say anything else, Professor?”

“Well…yes. He asked me if it might be possible to make more than one horcrux, to render one’s soul even “safer.” Of course, I told him it was madness. I supposed it would be possible, but I said in no uncertain terms that it would be a horror that should not even be contemplated.”

“Did he say _how many_ horcruxes he intended to make?” Amelia said eagerly. This might be it.

Slughorn trembled as he remembered: “If he was truly revealing his plans? Six. Six horcruxes for a seven-part soul. He thought it would be more stable. I refused to speculate on principle. That’s all I know, Amelia, I swear it. I ended the conversation there and then, and I never let him as close after that. I couldn’t lie to myself any more about the darkness that was in him.”

“Well, fortunately, that was precisely what I needed. Thank you, Professor Slughorn. You’ve been a great help.”

He sighed heavily. “Well, that’s a relief. You will tell me, won’t you? You’ll tell me when you’ve got them all?”

“Of course. I’ll keep you informed.”

 

#

 

Draco Malfoy was subdued as he and his mother entered St. Mungo’s, where the head of the Black Family was spending most of his time. His father was soon to be shipped off to Azkaban and his own life had just been turned upside down. He was barely starting to get used to the idea of being the son of a single mother. That wasn’t supposed to happen to elite purebloods.

He wasn’t sure what to expect from the man who had spent nearly twelve years in Azkaban himself. When they saw him, he was thin, pale, and sickly, but cleaned up and well-dressed—clearly on the road to recovery. He looked at the pair of them with disdain, but he spoke to them more politely than Draco expected, given his reputation.

“I’m surprised you came to see me, Narcissa,” Sirius said. “I don’t think we’ve met on good terms since I ran away from home.”

“I wish it were under better circumstances, Sirius,” she replied, “but I needed to see the head of the family.”

“Oh? The head of the family?” he said with a condescending smirk. “Why? To beg me not to disown you after what Lucius did?”

“Actually, I’ve filed for divorce from Lucius.”

Sirius’s jaw dropped. “Wh-wh-what? Why?”

“Because Lucius did even worse than you know. In the execution of his ill-advised plan, he lost a priceless artifact of the Dark Lord’s and botched one of _his_ key plans. I still believe _he_ will return one day, and as you can see, I have a son to think of. So I left.”

Sirius regarded the two of them carefully. Draco noticed his eyes had widened with surprise when his mother mentioned the Dark Lord’s artifact, but he _didn_ _’t_ react when she said the Dark Lord would come back. He wondered how much Sirius knew.

“So old Lucy finally went too far, did he?” Sirius said, revelling in his position of power. “You had to get out while the getting was good?”

“Not to mention the fact that he’ll be going to Azkaban soon,” she said, “or that he put Draco in such danger from the basilisk. I had ample reasons. The point is, I’ll be Narcissa Black again, assuming you’ll let me stay in the family. Otherwise, I’ll have to resurrect the defunct Rosier line.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. Narcissa had impressed upon Draco that, despite being a blood traitor, Sirius was raised as a Black and was as sharp as they came. He would know that reviving the Rosier line would be difficult, but doable and thus would show she still had some control. He would also know that talking about the family line meant it was about inheritance, since she could keep the Black name if it was just for herself, but not for Draco. So it was no surprise that he made the logical leap: “You want me to make Draco a Black.”

“I think that would be best for him, yes,” she said.

“I see…And Draco, what do you think?”

Draco blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected to be asked that, at least not so quickly. He struggled to respond calmly: “I…I know the Malfoy name is mud right now. And the Black name still holds some credibility. I…I would be proud to hold it.”

“Uh huh. You realise that would make Draco the Heir Presumptive, since he would be the only one living who could carry on the family name?” he asked Narcissa.

“Do you anticipate having difficulty rectifying your inheritance issues?” she asked him.

Sirius scowled: “The Healers say I may need their help for…fertility reasons, but long term, probably not. But anyway, he’d only be heir to the family name and property held in trust by the family, which wasn’t much last time I checked. I can still will the rest to Harry. Speaking of which, my godson’s descriptions have not instilled me with confidence in Draco.”

Draco scowled. Of course, Potter would screw everything up. It was infuriating to think of him holding such influence in the House of Black. Even if Draco hadn’t made it so personal these past two years, it would be no good having yet another political opponent aligned with the head of the family. But he was smart enough to hold his tongue about all that. Mother had told him he needed to clean up his act, and he was going to do it.

“I have spoken to Draco about his behaviour at school, and I will be expecting better of him in the future,” she said.

“Yes,” Draco said, swallowing his pride, “I…I apologise for my personal insults and harassment of your…godson and his friends. I…was over the line.”

Sirius gave him a long look and turned back to his mother: “But that goes for you, too, Cissy. If you keep spouting the same things your husband did, we’re going to have a problem.”

“I recognise now the flaw in Lucius’s position,” she answered without missing a beat. “I have already made overtures to the House of Greengrass to begin to moderate our position. We’re not going to bow to your politics, and I don’t think you expect us to, but we won’t hold fast to Lucius’s, either.”

Sirius rested his chin on his hand and surveyed them both thoughtfully. “So the Queen of Slytherin has been dethroned, has she?” he said with a grin. “I never thought I’d see the day…Alright, Cissy, you can stay in the family, but I’m keeping an eye on you. As for Draco…he’ll have to earn it. If he can be civil with Harry in the future and prove he really has cleaned up his act, I can make the arrangements. You have any problems with that?”

Narcissa sighed with relief and shook her head no. Draco scowled inwardly at having to deal civilly with Potter, who clearly didn’t know the meaning of the word “nobility,” but he didn’t have much choice, and he accepted the deal.

“Great. You know, I’m surprised you’re getting a divorce this easily,” Sirius said.

“Well, Madam Bones is helping me in exchange for my testimony, but I was lucky my father insisted on a contract that was fairly equitable.”

“Blacks bow to no one,” Sirius smirked as he said the old, unofficial motto. “It would have to have been equitable. Bah, who likes marriage contracts, anyway? You know, I never realised how antiquated they were until Andi ran off with Ted, and Lily started hanging with us. You know what? New rule: no arranged marriages in the Black Family.”

“What?! But you can’t!” Draco gasped before he caught himself.

Sirius looked at him in genuine confusion. “They’re outdated, and half the time, they make people miserable. Why shouldn’t I?”

“But—but my arrangement with Pansy—”

“Pansy?”

“Oh, dear,” Narcissa sighed. “Pansy Parkinson. Draco’s intended. Lucius and her father made the arrangement when they reached the standard age of six.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Oh, one of _those_ ,” he groaned. “And you _want_ to stick with her? Is she at least good looking?”

“Sirius!” Narcissa gasped.

But Draco hesitated and then fished a small picture of Pansy out of his robes and handed it to him. Sirius took one look at it and said, “You could do better.”

“Hey!”

“Calm down. Calm down. You obviously like her if you’re already carrying a picture of her. I’m just saying, though—”

Draco fumed and ground out, “Are you going to let me keep her or not.”

“Lesson one of romance, Draco: Pansy isn’t anyone’s to ‘keep.’ I may not like you, but I’d be delinquent in my duty as a ladies’ man if I didn’t give you good romance advice, so here it is: if you really want Pansy, then win her over the old-fashioned way. And don’t worry about anyone else standing in your way. If her father doesn’t like it, I’ll have a _talk_ with him. He won’t be a problem.” He showed a wicked grin that reminded Draco that he was, indeed, a member of the House of Black.

“Thank you, Sirius,” Narcissa said. “We appreciate your support. And call me if you want me to hook you up with a date, too.”

He grimaced slightly and said, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

#

 

Days passed. The Aurors cleared most of Hogwarts castle and the grounds of dark magic bit by bit with the exceptions of the Room of Requirement and the Chamber of Secrets itself. The Acromantula colony in the Forbidden Forest was placed under close watch, but Amelia decided it could wait until they had more time to deal with it. The Ministry finally resumed normal operations, much to the Minister’s relief, but there was still much to be done.

When Harry next entered the Ministry building for the trials of Lucius Malfoy and Peter Pettigrew, the frantic, chaotic activity he had seen previously had died down. The place seemed to be running smoothly now, except for the rumoured trouble in the Department of Mysteries. Harry had to testify at Malfoy’s trial, as did everyone else who had witnessed his plot in action, including his own wife. Draco, Harry noticed, was subdued and not ranting and raving or even sneering as he would have done at school. Sirius had explained the change that had happened in his family, and Harry firmly agreed that it was an improvement.

Even as things were, Lucius had talked the charges against him down on the grounds that he didn’t know what the diary would do or that it was deadly. It was the thinnest of defences, but he still had enough friends that it nearly worked…until Narcissa opened up about the corruption, bribery, and his activities during the war. He received a life sentence and a public disavowal from Fudge.

Pettigrew’s trial was more straightforward, and Sirius’s testimony and what little physical evidence was available was enough to convict him. Harry was dismayed, though, when it turned out he _didn_ _’t_ get a life sentence. Sirius had, but that was from an overzealous Ministry that never actually gave him a trial, so it wasn’t a fair comparison. It turned out that for all his crimes, Pettigrew had never actually committed murder, and his crime also didn’t meet some technical requirement for treason. They nailed him on twelve counts of manslaughter and one of conspiracy and gave him seventy-five years, but he could theoretically live long enough to get out.

Though probably not.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were charged in the muggle court system. Madam Bones escorted Harry to the magistrate in Little Whinging one day to give a deposition. He was surprised again to learn that most of what they had done to him was actually borderline behaviour. Since he wasn’t medically underweight, was fully clothed, had no scars from beatings (though he remembered Uncle Vernon suggesting they _should_ have done it), and was even fully vaccinated (to his own astonishment), he could admit he was better off than too many abused children the magistrate must have seen. Still, the cupboard under the stairs, the cat flap on the door, and their general ill-treatment of him were clearly actionable. Dudley’s morbid obesity and bullying behaviour weren’t, but they helped establish a pattern. In the end, they didn’t receive very much jail time, but they did lose custody of Dudley, and worse, their reputations.

Meanwhile, with his blinding terror quota for the year filled, Harry found himself relaxing at the Weasleys’ house for the month while Sirius recovered. With the promise of a godfather to go home to, it was the greatest month of his life, despite the unfinished business he had hanging over his head. He spent his time flying, lounging around the orchard, learning to swim from Ron’s older brothers (Fred and George were so grateful that they didn’t try to drown him once), and, at Mrs. Weasley’s insistence, working on his summer homework. Ginny did her level best to talk to him, but she still tended to freeze up around him.

Once a week, both Harry and Ginny would see a Mind Healer for counselling. Harry had a lot of baggage from the Dursleys and from his first year, but the Mind Healer said he was surprisingly well-adjusted, almost as if he were magically protected from the worst effects. Ginny’s trauma was shorter, but deeper, and it took her time to confront and work through all of it. They also had one group session to help disabuse her of her Harry Potter fantasies and try to become more comfortable around Harry as a friend. He thought she was making good progress.

It was weeks later, shortly before Sirius was to be released from St. Mungo’s for final time, that Dumbledore came to collect Harry to reopen the Chamber of Secrets. He escorted Harry to the castle after a lengthy lecture to be careful from Mrs. Weasley, but, of course, there was probably no danger from the Chamber anymore.

“I have some good news, Harry,” Dumbledore told him as they walked to the castle. “I have spoken to your friend, Remus, and I believe I can convince him to take the position of Defence Professor next year.”

“Really, sir?” Harry said eagerly. If Remus could keep on his upbeat side, that would be great fun.

“He seemed receptive. He made a condition that we remove the curse on the position first, but Mr. Croaker informs me that he has found what he believes is the curse in the wards, and he also believes he can lift it before school begins in the autumn.

“That would be great, Professor. I’ll tell him I hope he does it.”

They joined with Amelia Bones, Head Auror Scrimgeour, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Gawain Robards in Myrtle’s bathroom—four of the Ministry’s best people, though Madam Bones quickly explained that Mad-Eye Moody was staying away due to the risk to his magical eye. She handed Harry a pair of wraparound clouded glasses. “I’m sure it’ll be a pain trying to see down there,” she said, “but they should protect you from dying until we’re sure the area is clear of basilisks. Now, Harry, we’re going to need as exact a description of the Chamber as you can give us to plan this tactically.”

Harry nodded and began describing the Chamber of Secrets, from the long pipe they had to slide down to the caved-in corridor with the snake-skin to the second door, which was the entrance to the Chamber itself and the statues and the basilisk carcass inside.

“Very good, Mr. Potter,” Bones said when he was done. “Open the entrance, then.”

Harry had to lift up his clouded glasses to see the snake carving, but he managed to pull off the Parseltongue password, and the sinks opened. However, the Aurors didn’t slide down. They had brought long, thin, magical ropes that they used to rappel down the pipe. Bones sent Dumbledore and the three Aurors down first to ensure the area was safe, with Harry in the middle and herself bringing up the rear. They reached the bottom and soon the Chamber door, which Harry also opened, and the Aurors streamed inside.

The basilisk corpse was there, right where he’d left it. He was worried it would stink badly after all these weeks, but it was actually pretty well-preserved. Dumbledore and the Aurors spread out and scanned the Chamber to ensure it was truly empty. Madam Bones, however, pulled Harry back so that he couldn’t see. He was only there in can they needed a Parselmouth for something else.

They waited a long time before Dumbledore emerged from the Chamber with a cheerful expression and his clouded glasses gone. “Well, Amelia,” he said, “you may rest assured that there is no other basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. Hogwarts is completely clear of weapons of mass destruction.”

Bones sighed with relief. “That’s good to hear, Albus. I know I’ll be glad to put this nightmare behind us. It looks like you’ll be able to reopen in September after all. We still need to clear out the Acromantula colony, but I’ll give the Aurors a holiday rotation now and take care of that in August.”

“Excellent. Now, I _will_ need Mr. Potter to help us with some items in the Chamber.”

“Why?” she asked suspiciously.

“While we conclusively ruled out the presence of another basilisk, we found that the Chamber contains several caches of dark artifacts and tomes presumably intended to aid the Heir of Slytherin in his work, which must be unlocked with Parseltongue, so I need Mr. Potter to help remove them.”

“Alright, then. Go ahead, Mr. Potter.”

Harry reentered the Chamber and, at Dumbledore’s direction, opened all of the Parseltongue-sealed secret compartments for the Aurors to clear it out. He was just glad to know that no other giant snakes would jump out at him from now on—or any other kind of monster, for that matter. Maybe he could actually have a normal year next year…he hoped.

 

#

 

“Dammit, Albus! Where’s that sword?”

“Amelia? I’ve been keeping the Sword of Gryffindor in my office here. What’s wrong?”

Dumbledore stepped out of his Chief Warlock’s office to see an alarming sight. Amelia Bones was rushing through the Ministry carrying a withered human arm that was emitting a faint wisp of vapour in a pair of fire tongs whilst telling everyone in her path, “Out of the way! Out of the way! Seriously dark magic coming through! Dumbledore, quick, get the sword!”

He retrieved it in a moment and reappeared at the door. “Did you find one of the items—” he began.

“Talk later!” she cut him off. “Quick, destroy the ring before something else happens!”

Dumbledore looked down and saw a gold ring on the withered hand with a large black stone. He could feel the dark magic flowing off it, so he didn’t risk waiting around to get a closer look. He swung the sword down with a mighty _CRACK!_ There was a small explosion that disintegrated the hand, and the ring fell to the floor, seemingly inert. Amelia threw the fire tongs in the floo and cast an _Incendio_ powerful enough to melt them, just in case.

“It seems you have quite the tale to tell,” Albus said.

“You think?” Amelia grumbled.

“Whose hand was it?” he asked after a minute.

“Shacklebolt’s. He alive, but he’s in St. Mungo’s, and he’ll be on permanent desk duty when he gets out. He was one of my best men, too.”

“Quite a shame, Amelia. Do you know what happened?”

“Apparently, the ring had a strong compulsion on it plus whatever that curse was. They said he put the bloody thing on before he knew what was happening. They had to cut his arm off to save him.”

Dumbledore bent down, checked the ring for residual magic, and picked it up to examine it. He gasped when he saw the symbol on the stone.

Amelia didn’t seem to notice. “All I know,” she said, “is the next horcrux we go after, we’re taking a _lot_ of reinforcements.”

 

#

 

“Albus, you know that sea cave you tipped us off to? We’re going to need your help with that one.”

“Why is that, Amelia? I thought you sent reinforcements.”

“We did, but You-Know-Who left an army of Inferi down there. The team barely got out alive. One of them—Proudfoot got his leg chewed off. He says he’s retiring—starting now. You’re the only one who’s fought that many of those things and lived.”

Albus sighed: “Very well. I will join you at once.”

 

#

 

“All that work, and someone else beat us to it. Do you have any idea who R.A.B. is?” Amelia demanded.

“Most likely, I believe it is Regulus Arcturus Black,” Albus said, “a Death Eater who vanished in 1979 and was rumoured to have been killed by Voldemort for desertion.”

“Any clue where he might have left the real one?”

“Well, that is a difficult problem. If Voldemort intercepted him before Regulus destroyed it, he could have re-hidden it anywhere. If Regulus destroyed it successfully, it will be difficult to find evidence of such. However, if he was unable to destroy it, but hid it before he was killed, it may be in the Black Family manor or another place known to him. I will ask Sirius to look for any clues he can find.”

 

#

 

“—and the deep and dank tarn at my feet closed sullenly and silently over the fragments of the House of Black.”

“Padfoot, the building’s still standing,” Remus reminded him.

“Fine, if you want to tell the _boring_ version,” said Sirius. The pair stood before Albus, Amelia, and Croaker covered with dirt and scrapes, but at least not missing any limbs. “We did leave the place in worse shape than we found it, though.”

“The house _did_ kind of attack us,” Remus admitted. “The point is, it turns out his house elf was still alive—”

“—unfortunately.”

“Fortunately, you mean, because he led us right to the horcrux.”

“Yeah. It was sitting on display in the drawing room for the past fourteen years, and no one ever noticed,” Sirius said. “Only _my_ family…”

“We very much appreciate your help, Sirius, Remus,” Dumbledore said. “This is one more piece of Voldemort’s soul that Mr. Croaker can use to solve Harry’s problem and finish our task.”

“Well, I say good riddance to it,” Sirius replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I think I have some doxy bites.”

 

#

 

The sun shone bright and clear on Platform Nine and Three Quarters on the first of September. After a summer of chaos, all of magical Britain was relieved to have things finally back to normal, and even better was that Hogwarts was now certified to be as safe as possible (well, except for hexes traded in the halls and Quidditch injuries).

“Well, Pup, ready for a great new year?” Sirius said as he saw his godson off.

“Yeah, mostly…” Harry said. “Is it bad that this is the first time I’m kind of sad to be leaving for school?”

“Nah, with the childhood you had, I’m not surprised, but I’ll be here when you get back. You need to go enjoy your time at Hogwarts. No monsters this year, no evil wizards—well, besides Snivellus. And you’ve got some great friends there. So all you need to worry about is getting good grades, pranking the Slytherins, and finding yourself a girlfriend.”

“Sirius!”

“What? Boyfriend, then?”

_“Sirius!”_

His godfather ruffled his hair. “Come on, I remember what it’s like to be thirteen.”

“I think you still _are_ thirteen,” Harry said.

“Exactly. The point is, we’ve solved most of your problems, so it’s time for you to enjoy your life.”

“Voldemort’s still out there, though, and he’s still connected to me.”

Sirius sighed: “Yes, but he can’t hurt you with Dumbledore on the case. You’re going to be alright, Pup. We’ve got everything in hand.”

“I still wish those two Aurors didn’t have to get hurt,” Harry said.

“I know, but compared with the damage Voldemort did during the war, I still can’t believe we got off so easy. They made their sacrifices by their choice, and they were willing to sacrifice a lot more, so there’s no one to blame but Voldemort. And now, we’ve got two horcruxes in hand, so I’m sure between the Unspeakables and Dumbledore, they’ll figure out how to get that soul piece out of your scar, and you’ll be shot of him.”

“But that’s not all, is it?” Harry said. “Hufflepuff’s cup is still out there.”

“Yes, but we’ll find it,” Sirius said with such conviction that Harry was filled with hope in spite of himself. “Sooner or later, we’ll find it.”


End file.
